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COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV 




MYRA GOODWIN PLANTZ 



SONGS FOR 
QUIET HOURS 



BY 

MYRA GOODWIN PLANTZ 




THE METHODIST BOOK CONCERN 
NEW YORK CINCINNATI 



T5 3 ^ u 



Copyright, 1915, by 
SAMUEL PLANTZ 



APR -6 1915 

©CI.A3i)8227 



CONTENTS 

Poems of Devotion page 

My Rest 13 

My Oasis 13 

Answered Prayer 14 

He Understands 15 

Satisfied 17 

Renunciation 18 

His Coming 18 

Be Strong 19 

The Way Thither 20 

Etching 21 

Reconciled 22 

Something for Jesus 23 

The Anointing 24 

Patience 25 

The Whole Wide World for Jesus 25 

Toward Jerusalem 26 

Melody 28 

At Anchor 29 

Loneliness 31 

Thy Will Be Done 31 

Coming 33 

His Unceasing Bounty 34 

Prayer 35 

Only One Talent 36 

Burdens 37 

Little Things 38 

Humility 39 

Waiting 40 

A Heart's Desire 41 

My Cross 41 

Thou Dost Abide with Me 42 



4 CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Peace 44 

The Lace Maker 45 

Bethel 46 

God Gi\t:th the Increase 47 

Success 48 

My Harvest 49 

Just for To-Dat 50 

The Valley op Humility 51 

What Can I Do for the Master? 52 

The First Miracle 54 

Two Petitions 55 

The Starless Crown 56 

The Cross 60 

Silent Prayer 60 

The Everlasting Arms 61 

The Way to Sunshine Land 62 

Jesus Enthroned 63 

Through the Valley 64 

My Place 65 

Gather Jewels fob the King 67 

If This Were All 68 

God's Promises 69 

Transmuted 70 

Poems of Sentiment and Reflection 

The Light Keeper's Daughter 75 

Waiting 78 

Good to Mother 79 

Love 81 

When Day Stars Sleep 83 

"She Always Made Home Happj" 84 

A Child's Trust 85 

Spring Weather 86 

My Possessions 87 

Farewell 88 

True Success 90 



CONTENTS 5 

PAGE 

Better to Wait 91 

Life 91 

I Need Your Roses Now 92 

Somewhere 93 

Woman's Work 94 

A Dream 96 

Bedside Angels 96 

Morning-Glories 97 

The Carpenter's Son 98 

Two Watchers 99 

Dust 100 

Rest 101 

Night 102 

Compensation 103 

Too Soon 105 

The Bird's Wat 106 

Suppose You Try Smiling 107 

Earthworms 109 

The Song op the Tea Kettle 110 

The Common Car Ill 

Poems for Festal Days 

Thanksgiving 115 

Reasons for Thanksgiving 116 

A Christmas Song 117 

The Christmas Angel 118 

Oh, Sweet Old Song op Bethlehem 119 

The Old and New 121 

The Sunny Way 122 

Easter Morning 124 

Easter Flowers 125 

Easter Lilies 126 

Personal Poems 

Chopin Nocturne XI 131 

To Harry and Gertie 131 

Baby Jennie 132 



6 CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Dead 133 

Victorious 134 

He Giveth His Beloved Sleep 135 

One Year in Heaven 136 

"It Is Well with the Child" 137 

In the Presence op the Kino 139 

Going On 140 

I Never Loved Before 141 

How Much Do I Love You? 142 

A Mountain Soul 144 

Father 144 

"At Evening Time It Shall Be Light" 146 

The Richest Time of Life 147 

Growing Old 148 

A Sweet, Loving Mother Can Never Grow Old 150 

Mother Love 152 



IN MEMORTAM 
A Pastor^s Tribute 

On July 25, 1914, at Epworth Heights, Michi- 
gan, Myra Goodwin Plantz entered into life im- 
mortal. After a heroic struggle for health, her 
frail body yielded, but her indomitable spirit 
lives. One cannot think of her as dead. She was 
too high and strong and good to die. 

She was born at Brookville, Indiana, July 22, 
1856. Her father. Rev. Thomas A. Goodwin, 
D.D,, was a very prominent minister, author, and 
reformer. She was educated in the Indianapolis 
high school and in Mount Vernon Seminary, 
Washington, D. C. She taught in De Pauw Uni- 
versity, and later engaged in W. C. T. U. evan- 
gelistic work. 

On September 16, 1885, she was married to Dr. 
Samuel Plantz, now president of Lawrence Col- 
lege. She was a model pastor's wife, endearing 
herself to all by her sweetness and kindness. 

A great part of President Plantz's success in 
building up Lawrence College is due to his wife's 
efforts. 

How little can bare biographical facts tell of 
the life of a soul ! Myra Plantz was a wonderful 
woman. Royally endowed by nature, highly cul- 
tured by the schools, developed by lifelong study, 

7 



8 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

gifted and brilliant, yet simple and loving, she 
was an ideal wife and mother. 

Abreast of modern thought and in full sympa- 
thy with the movement for woman's emancipation, 
she still found in home duties and fellowship the 
chief joy of her existence. To be literary and to 
be interested in public affairs and at the same 
time thoroughly happy in home joys is a rare 
combination. To Dr. Plantz she was wife, com- 
rade, and friend in the highest and holiest sense. 
She merged herself in his interests, yet retained 
a striking originality and independence which set 
her apart from the average person. She copied 
no one, yet learned from everyone. 

Her sense of humor stood her in good stead, 
especially in the closing years of struggle with 
disease. No trial could long depress her gay and 
buoyant spirit. When others despaired of her 
recovery, she smiled and proceeded to get better. 
No gloomy ascetic was she, but a live, happy, 
natural woman enjoying everything worth while. 
Her unfailing courage and optimism after her 
severe operation were a tonic to faith. To her 
God was always good. 

She wrote as birds wing and sing. It was her 
nature. Four hundred helpful and interesting 
stories, eleven serial stories, two hundred deeply 
religious and inspiring poems, three books, and 
thousands of letters hint at her ceaseless literary 
activity. Yet all these were produced by one en- 
grossed by many cares. Doubtless her excep- 



IN MEMORIAM 9 

tional gifts of humor, pathos, and imagination 
would have made her one of our foremost writers 
had she given herself wholly to literary activi- 
ties. But this she could not do; like Frances 
Willard, her life was a vow. She wrote and lived 
for one purpose only — to help others. From all 
parts of the country came letters assuring her 
of the uplift received from her writings. 

To her religion was all in all. The sense of God 
penetrated her whole life, dominated her activi- 
ties, inspired her writings, intensified her joys, 
sanctified her sufferings, purified her heart, and 
exalted her character. The deepest things of 
Christian experience were uppermost with her. 
Faith was her normal attitude. To the last she 
was growing in grace. Her high purpose for 1914 
was to bring sunshine to all whom she met. 

If her religion was mystical, it was also in- 
tensely practical. From her deep experiences she 
came to serve in every possible way. In church 
and in college she sought out individuals and 
made life happier for them. With her husband 
she did great things in establishing Lawrence on 
secure foundations, but she did far more: to the 
students she gave herself in unstinted devotion. 

It is beautiful to think of Myra Plantz enter- 
ing on her "adventure brave and new" in the un- 
known land. Her poetic spirit, attuned to God 
and filled with love, will at once be at home in 
heaven. Nothing there will be alien to her. In 
earth's school she was ever learning the one lesson 



10 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

we are set to learn, "Life is our chance o' the prize 
of learning love." She will know what to do in 
paradise. 

All the longings which breathe in her poems, 
all the desires voiced in her prayers will be fully 
satisfied. Always was she aspiring after the im- 
age of Christ. Now she sees him face to face. 
Her soul will grow radiant and Godlike as she 
waits for the loved ones who were dearer to her 
than life. Heaven will be thrice heaven to her, 
when they land upon its shores to join with her 
in the unpicturable and unimaginable service of 
spiritual beings who are in perfect harmony with 
infinite love. 

William D. Marsh. 



POEMS OF DEVOTION 



MY REST 
Father, I am so weak and weary, 

So oft I wander far astray; 
With shadows dark the path is dreary, 

My tear-dimmed eyes see not the way; 

Like some lost bird at night returning, 
Seeking with trembling wing her nest. 

My troubled soul is longing, yearning 
To fly to thee and be at rest. 

There ever in thy love abiding, 
My feeble faith would stronger grow, 

And safe within thy dear arms hiding, 
Thy perfect love I more would know. 

E'en now I hear thy sweet voice calling, 
"O, weary one, fly to my breast," 

And while on me thy love is falling, 
I come! I come! and am at rest. 

♦ 4» 4» 

MY OASIS 

I WATCH the desert ships go slowly by, 
Between the yellow sands and burnished sky, 
And dream of cargoes rich which once were mine. 
With joy of bearing frankincense and wine. 
I asked but for the toiler's night of rest 
While life was beating strong within my breast. 

IS 



14 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

The desert lure is on me as I lie, 
And see the distant caravans go by. 

For when I fainted in the desert sands, 
And vanished soon my comrades to far lands, 
I woke to find before my burning eyes 
This cooling shade detached from Paradise. 
The fruit hung low, the spring was flowing clear. 
Refreshed I longed for travelers to draw near, 
Yet wait I must. O heart, be still and pray, 
For see, God walks here in the cool of day. 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

ANSWERED PRAYER 

I ASKED for bread ; God gave a stone instead. 
Yet while I pillowed there my weary head. 

The angels made a ladder of my dreams. 
Which upward to celestial mountains led. 

And when I woke, beneath the morning's beams. 
Around my resting place fresh manna lay; 
And, praising God, I went upon my way, 
For I was fed. 

I asked for strength ; for with the noontide heat 
I fainted, while the reapers, singing sweet. 

Went forward with ripe sheaves I could not 
bear. 
Then came the Master, with his bloodstained feet, 

And lifted me with sympathetic care. 



HE UNDERSTANDS 15 

Then on his arm I leaned till all was done, 
And stood I with the rest at set of sun, 
My task complete. 

I asked for light ; around me closed the night. 
Nor guiding star met my bewildered sight, 

For storm clouds gathered in a tempest near. 
Yet, in the lightning's blazing, roaring flight, 

I saw the way before me straight and clear. 
What though his leading pillar was of fire. 
And not the sunbeam of my heart's desire? 
My path was bright. 

God answers prayer; sometimes when hearts are 

weak 
He gives the very gifts believers seek. 

But often faith must learn a deeper rest, 
And trust God's silence when he does not speak; 
For, he whose name is Love will send the best. 
Stars may burn out, nor mountain walls endure. 
But God is true, his promises are sure 
To those who seek. 



4» ♦ ♦ 



HE UNDERSTANDS 

I DO not know why Marah's waters flow 
Before the place where Elim's palm trees grow, 
To cool the desert sands. 



i6 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Nor why when Canaan looks so sweet and fair, 
Strong deadly foes are waiting everywhere, 
But then He understands. 

I cannot see why Jacob, all night long, 
Must put his feeble arm against the Strong 

To get his high demands. 
Nor why e'en now some souls in angiiish plead 
When God is waiting to supply each need, 

But then He understands. 

We can but wonder why some lives are bound 
With chains of steel, nor hear a sweeter sound 

Than toil's severe commands, 
While time makes melody for other ears. 
As perfect as the music of the spheres. 

But then He understands. 

There is a purpose in our pain and strife. 
And when rue mingles with the wine of life. 

For these are from His hands. 
So when I cannot conquer with the strong, 
I do not with the vanquished suffer long, 

Because He understands. 

Sometimes I look upon the glowing west. 
And think I see some shining mountain crest 

In distant Eden lands. 
And grateful for the ways my feet have trod, 
I do not fear the path that leads to God, 

Because He understands. 



SATISFIED 17 



SATISFIED 

What means this longing and unrest ? 

The earth is beautiful and fair, 
And gives the smallest bird its nest, 

And of its wealth of food a share. 
At life's great banquet few have more 

Of earthly treasures than have I; 
With love's red wine my cup runs o'er. 

And why do these not satisfy? 

As plants will stony pavements burst, 

If otherwise no light is found. 
As harts will pant for streams athirst, 

I yearn for something just beyond. 
As bird within a cage of gold. 

Will still lift wings toward the blue, 
My soul grows restless to unfold 

Its pinions that are prisoned too. 

It is not more of earthly bliss 

I need to still this inward strife, 
My inmost soul but longs for this, 

A truer and diviner life. 
O soul, the sun shines over all. 

The sky is thine more than the clod, 
My spirit finds this earth too small, 

For nothing satisfies but God. 



i8 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

EENUNCIATION 

I LAID it down at His dear feet, 
The thing so precious and so sweet, 
The thing that seemed to me the best, 
Yet which had brought my heart unrest. 
Then turned to take my work again, 
And soothed my deep heartbreaking pain 
With "Now my Lord has all." 

Long afterward I heard my name 
And gladly to his side I came, 
Expecting then some new command, 
Or gift of love from his dear hand, 
And heard, "Take this your life to crown." 
It was the joy I had laid down, 
And still my Lord had all. 

4» 4» 4» 

HIS COMING 
I THINK I would not care to be 
Waiting in great expectancy 

For my dear King, 
For if I kept my eager eyes 
Always uplifted to the skies, 

Some little thing 
Beneath my feet might dying be 
That needed tender care from me. 

I would not dare be listening 
With bated breath for echoing 
Of angel song, 



BE STRONG 19 

For I might lose the feeble cry 
Of some lost child that only I 

Could lead along. 
Enough for me each setting sun 
Brings nearer the Beloved One. 

How sweet to labor some day long, 
With busy hand and cheerful song, 

And then to see 
His presence turn the evening gloam 
Into a golden pathway home 

As he draws near. 
Not by my merit, but his grace, 
My King will find my lowly place. 

4* * * 

BE STRONG 

Be strong, my heart, no need repining, 
Above the clouds the sun is shining, 
Their dark folds have a silver lining. 

Which thou shalt see erelong. 
It is no time for idle grieving. 
Too many sad hearts need relieving, 
In God's sure promises believing, 

Be strong, my heart, be strong. 

Be true, my heart; nature discloses 
Her time for snow, her time for roses, 
Nor ever on our faith imposes. 
As rolls the seasons through. 



20 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Be true to self, to those who love thee, 
Be true as are the stars above thee, 
Be true to God, who oft will prove thee, 
Be true, my heart, be true. 

Be glad, my heart ; what need to borrow 

The care belonging to the morrow? 

There are more smiles than tears of sorrow, 

More happy days than sad. 
While angels heaven are nearer bringing 
Join in their happy praises ringing, 
Like them, of peace and joy be singing. 

Be glad, my heart, be glad. 

▼ V V 

THE WAY THITHER 

"Does the road wind uphill all the way?" "Yes, to 
the very end." 

Sweetheart, the way is up that leads to God, 
And feet that gain the far-off shining height 
Must nobly strive, not as the eagle's flight 
Which soars with pinions strong toward the light. 
But step by step the long rough way is trod. 

Ah ! once, sweetheart, the path was dark as night 
And clung upon the mountain's rugged side, 
No covert near where might the fainting hide. 
No angel came when hearts in anguish cried 
While long the pilgrims watched for morning 
light. 



ETCHING ai 

But One saw all, sweetheart, and he a king 
Was moved by love to leave his shining throne 
And walk this weary, weary way alone, 
And crown his brow with thorns without a moan, 
That he might take from life and death their 
sting. 

Since he went up life's pathway, why complain? 
The ladder built by constant, trustful prayer 
Is still the way to upper regions fair. 
And each weak pilgrim finds a welcome there, 
And no one seeks the golden stair in vain. 

O ! then press on, sweetheart, with courage strong, 
For nevermore from us can darkness hide 
The footprints that he left our steps to guide. 
And God's own angels walk our way beside; 
The way but leads to joy and is not long. 

4» 4» 4» 

ETCHING 

I STOOD entranced beside a picture fair 

As poet's dream before it turns to song 
And cried, "What pencil held by mortal dare 

Keveal us secrets which to gods belong? 
Such tender depths of shadow and of light. 

Such mellowness of tone, not true to art, 
But lifting art to supernatural height ; 

What used this artist to translate his heart?" 



22 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

The master said, "The poet traced his thought 
With needle point on metal carefully; 

And then the burning, biting acid wrought 
The miracle of beauty that we see." 

O soul, impatient with the pain and fret. 
The daily discipline of brain and heart, 

The time will come when thou canst well forget 
The preparation for thy blissful part. 

Let pain and sorrow do their etching till 
God's mirrored beauty shows the Master's skill. 



4» ♦ ♦ 



RECONCILED 

We stood together at the brink 
Of Death's dark sea of mystery. 

I cried aloud, you did not shrink, 
But turned a smiling face from me. 

I saw through tears a wave of light. 

And then you vanished from my sight. 

But, Oh, the wealth of memory! 

The happy past is still my own. 
And that great love that sheltered me, 

Were joy had I but it alone. 
If in your bliss you should forget, 
Soul of my soul, I have you yet. 



SOMETHING FOR JESUS 23 

SOMETHING FOR JESUS 
Oh, to be something for Jesus, 

Though lowest of those who serve, 
This is my highest ambition, 

And more than my gifts deserve. 
Oh, to be always found waiting, 

Eager for every command. 
To haste at his gracious bidding. 

Or patiently near him stand. 

Oh, to be something for Jesus, 

With hands that are true and strong, 
And feet that are swift in leading 

The weak from the paths of wrong; 
With eyes that can see for others 

The stars that illume the night, 
God's promises for his children. 

Our pillar of guiding light. 

Oh, to be something for Jesus, 

A voice that can sing his praise 
And tell his sorrowful children 

The Lord directeth their ways. 
"Something for Jesus" is better 

Than all the world has to give ; 
It drives away care and trouble. 

And makes it a joy to live. 

Oh, to be something for Jesus, 

He has such riches for me, 
A life of lowliest service 

Would all insufficient be; 



24 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

But happiest thought of heaven, 
With ministering angels blest, 

I can be something for Jesus, 
Through all eternity's rest. 

4» 4» 4» 

THE ANOINTING 

I SEEM to see her standing fair and sweet, 
Forgetting all but her absorbing love, 

While on his holy head and weary feet 
The ointment gushes from the cruse above. 

'Tis said that ever after in that room, 

Where love thus spent itself at such a cost. 

There was a perfume as of flowers in bloom. 
The fragrance of good deeds is never lost. 

"She brake the cruse," true love brooks no delay. 

Perhaps she let the lovely fragments fall 
Lest they should tempt her pride a later day. 

Are we so eager to give Christ our all? 

No service was too lowly; with her hair 

She wiped his feet with costly spikenard wet. 

Alas ! that honored work should have our care. 
While humble, hidden service we forget. 

Oh, gracious Master, keep us at thy feet, 
Until we let each cherished treasure fall; 

And though we have no ointment rich and sweet. 
Thy loving heart will know we give our all. 



PATIENCE 25 

PATIENCE 

I WOULD be patient, Father, lest I miss 

Some wondrous lesson thou wouldst kindly 
teach. 
Or some sweet taste of unexpected bliss 

Which only in the depths my soul could reach. 
I would not flinch when fast the flames increase. 

For fear thy tender heart could not endure 
My anguish keen, and thou wouldst bid it cease 

Before the dross was burned and I made pure. 

I would be patient and not like a child 

Leave the hard lessons for some future years; 
E'en let the upward way be dark and wild. 

The stars above be dimly seen through tears. 
But never spare a sorrow, pain, or loss. 

Where joy will not develop and refine. 
I would be patient since a painful cross 

Was borne, that I might have but peace with 
mine. 

4» 4» ♦ 

THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD FOR JESUS 

The whole wide world for Jesus, 

But while we give and pray 
For those in heathen darkness, 

Some near us go astray. 
They need the gospel message, 

The lost ones at our door; 
God left them in our keeping, 

The outcast and the poor. 



26 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

The whole wide world for Jesus, 

In lands of heathen gloom, 
Let some one tell the story, 

Till all the deserts bloom; 
But let no erring brother 

Away from mercy roam, 
Where God has left his children 

To lead the lost ones home. 

The whole wide world for Jesus; 

Out where no signals burn 
Some ships drift with the tempest. 

And never more return; 
But sadder far the wrecking 

Beneath the harbor light, 
Forgive us, Lord, for letting 

Souls perish in our sight. 

The whole wide world for Jesus; 

Not long may we proclaim 
To those who need the Saviour 

Salvation in his name. 
The harvest is around us. 

And we must faithful be, 
If we would hear the welcome, 
"Ye did it unto me." 
^ ^ ^ 
TOWARD JERUSALEM 
Toward Jerusalem, to keep deep burning 

The love of country through the long delay, 
A promise of their certain home returning, 
God's exiled people turned each day to pray. 



TOWARD JERUSALEM 27 

Toward Jerusalem, the prophet pleaded 
With windows oiien to the sacred hills, 

And angels left their shining thrones when needed 
To make the lions harmless, meek and still. 

Toward Jerusalem, the Bride of Heaven, 
I lift the windows of my soul to-day, 

While so much thought to life must now be given, 
I needs must close each earthward door and 
pray. 

Toward Jerusalem I look believing 

The joys it holds are more than can be told, 

Yet wait content with giving and receiving 
All the sweet blessing that this life can hold. 

Toward Jerusalem, as pilgrims tarry 

An hour beneath the palm trees' gracious shade. 

Then on fresh fruit and crystal water carry, 
I pause before the desert march is made. 

Toward Jerusalem ; some cross may greet me, 
Some lions crouch before me in the way. 

But burdens cannot tire nor foes defeat me. 
While I look upward every day and pray. 

Toward Jerusalem ; Oh ! Hearts repining 
With earth-made crosses that have heavy 
grown. 

Throw open wide the window where is shining, 
The light no earthly sun has ever known. 



38 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Toward Jerusalem; each day still nearer, 
We well may smile o'er trifling pain we bear, 

And go on singing, heaven growing dearer. 
Each time we turn away from earth in prayer. 

4» 4» 4» 

MELODY 

He sat within the busy hum. 

The beating of a city's heart, 
With blinded eyes and fingers dumb, 

And all unskilled in tuneful artj 
He drew the bow, nor seemed to care, 
How discord beat the heavy air. 

There chanced to pass that summer day 

One who was famous through the land 
For stirring hearts with melody. 

Who gently begged to rest the hand 
That tortured thus what seemed his own. 

He touched the strings, a spirit strong 
Woke with a sigh, a sob, a moan. 

Then made the air one pulsing song. 

Now such a whisper of delight 

The fountains hushed their rippling flow. 
While roses blushed a deeper glow. 

And in the dew of sound grew bright. 

Then such a joyful paean rose. 
The sky that lay in soft repose, 



AT ANCHOR 29 

Seemed to bend lovingly and near, 
That angels listening might hear, 

Tones like celestial music fine. 
While weary sons of toil stood still 
And wept or laughed, as was the will 
Of this great Master who could thrill 

A common thing with life divine. 

Thus we like players all untaught 

And blind and dumb, but jar the strings 
With painful discord, finding naught 

That will repay heart quiverings. 
Until we yield the instrument. 

This life with longings never still — 
Back to its maker whose intent 

Was melody with his own will. 

Then take my life, O Master Hand, 
Still all desires that are not best, 

My weak hands do not understand 
The way of harmony and rest. 

Then make my deepest heart tones thrill 
In melody with thy sweet will. 

T T ▼ 

AT ANCHOR 

The ships go sailing down the bay. 
Like carrier birds, each white wing spread, 

And I, so restless in delay. 
Look at the fair sky overhead, 



30 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

My sails stretched out like eager hands, 
Saluting distant beckoning lands. 

Yet not for me the breezes kind 
Dimple the sea and drive the mast, 

I watch with eyes the tears make blind, 
The ships with freight like mine go past. 

I who once dared the fiercest blast> 

Am anchored in the bay at last. 

And why? By his command whose will 

It is my sweetest joy to know ; 
Be still, O, eager heart, be still. 

Nor heed the tempting winds that blow; 
He surely knows what service best, 
The tireless haste, or patient rest. 

Perhaps my vessel needs repair, 

Some storm may wait to test its strength, 
Some place need special watchful care, 

Some cable need a greater length. 
Perhaps some precious freight I dare 
Not hope for, will be mine to bear. 

Forgive these questions ; I but ask 
My King, the love that always knows 

Obedience in the hardest task. 
Obedience in enforced repose ; 

Then send me when appoints thy will, 

When not, keep me at anchor still. 



LONELINESS 31 

LONELINESS 

Each soul must have its lonely hours, 

No greater proof doth God reveal 
Of its divine, immortal powers. 

Does its Creator ever feel 
The joy, that he, the wise, the good, 
Is ever fully understood? 

He trod alone the wine press, dyed 

With crimson fruitage of our sin. 
The Christ, the faithless crucified. 

The loneliness that hedged him in, 
That weight no human heart could share, 
Was hardest of his lot to bear. 

The stars, we call twin sisters, shine, 
Though age on age of space apart. 

As near as that soul next to thine. 
So starlike act thy noble part. 

Across earth's sin-cursed, groaning sod. 

Throw strong pure light, and wait for God. 

4» 4» 4» 

THY WILL BE DONE 

Thy will, O Lord, be done ; 

Here at thy feet. 
Let me, O blessed One, 

This prayer repeat. 



32 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Thou dost the sparrows feed, 
Thou dost the lilies heed, 
As thou dost see my need, 
Thy will be done. 

Thy will, O Lord, be done; 

When through the day, 
Under a cloudless sun, 

I take my way. 
Give songs my heart may sing, 
Choose gifts my hands may bring, 
When joys around me spring; 

Thy will be done. 

Thy will, O Lord, be done; 

E'en though with pain 
My crown of life be won. 

Thou wilt sustain. 
When thou dost try thine own 
I shall not be alone; 
Thou too hast sorrow known; 

Thy will be done. 

Thy will, O Lord, be done ; 

When I shall be 
At rest, a ransomed one, 

In bliss with thee. 
Whether it be to-day. 
Or if I long must stay 
In this sweet pilgrim way, 

Thy will be done. 



COMING 33 

COMING 

Coming! Oh, the depth of meaning 
In that word, my spirit, leaning 
Toward thy spirit, as the flower 
Sunward turns each passing hour, 
Keeps repeating, softly, slowly, 
As some saint his vespers holy, 
"Life is but one happy song, 
For he cometh now erelong." 

Coming! All the hours before me 
Shine with that sweet hope that o'er me 
Hangs as some resplendent star. 
That at first shone dim and far. 
But from cloud mists groweth clearer 
As thy presence draweth nearer. 
And each hour hath golden wings, 
Borrowed from the love it brings. 

Coming! Sunbeams shining brightly 
Kiss the drooping rosebuds lightly. 
With wet eyes the pansies glisten, 
And all nature seems to listen. 
While the west wind ceases sobbing. 
Just to hear my glad heart throbbing, 
"Coming, coming, can it be. 
He is coming now to me?" 

"God of love," I whisper softly, 
With a heart too full for lofty 



34 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Orisons, and grateful song. 
"All my joys to thee belong. 
Shrive me if more thought is given 
To my love than thy far heaven. 
Sweet and pure its bliss must be, 
But it Cometh now to me." 



4» 4» if 

HIS UNCEASING BOUNTY 

"He giveth unto his beloved in sleep." — Psa. 127. 
Revised Version (margin). 

How rich his bounty is! While sleeping, 
Buried so deep in graves of rest 

We might be in death's silent keeping. 
E'en then are his beloved blest. 

"He gives in sleep." Where we were sowing 
His warm rains fall, his dews descend. 

We wake to find our harvest growing. 
Cared for and guarded by a Friend. 

"He gives in sleep." The world forsaking, 
The soul forgets its ache and care. 

While rich and crimson currents making. 
The heart can life's demands repair. 

We are so frail. Could we be letting 
Our thoughts a constant toiling keep? 

O blessed time for sweet forgetting 
When his beloved are asleep ! 



PRAYER 

"He gives in sleep." Perhaps above us 
Bright angels watch the night away; 

Perhaps departed ones who love us 
Leave blessings for the coming day. 

"He gives in sleep." O sweet unfolding ! 

When our weak faith has turned to sight, 
One of our joys may be beholding 

The unseen mercies of the night. 

4» 4» 4» 

PRAYER 

I ASK this gift, dear Father, 

It seemeth good; 
Yet if my sight were clearer. 

All understood, 
I might not wish this answer won. 
If so hear but, "Thy will be done." 

This eager pleading, Father, 

Is but a song 
My foolish heart is making 

While deep and strong 
In melody life's currents run. 
And this the strain, "Thy will be done." 

Thus to desire it, Father, 

Cannot be sin, 
Yet as a restless ocean 

Is calm within. 



35 



36 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Beneath fond hopes that one by one 
Rise wavelike is, "Thy will be done." 

I long so for it, Father, 

And yet I will 
Ask thee not overboldly 

This cup to fill ; 
Thou knowest best, O, loving one, 
My prayer still is, "Thy will be done." 

4» 4» 4> 

ONLY ONE TALENT 

"Only one talent," the servant said, 

"What can I do with a thing so small ; 
If I could have had the ten instead, 

I should have toiled till the Master's call. 
But this little thing I will bury deep. 

And save for the King what is his own" ; 
So he turned to business, or idle sleep. 

Or wandered where flowers of ease had grown 

"Only one talent," another said, 

"I take it with thankful, trusting heart. 
For the loaves were few that thousands fed. 

When the Master's blessing formed a part. 
Others more gifted may stop and rest. 

But such a small store needs constant care," 
So he labored on with earnest zest. 

And increase was gathered everywhere. 



BURDENS 37 

In the gloaming time the Master came, 

And buried treasures were brought to light, 
And the slothful servant heard with shame, 

"Depart forever from out my sight." 
The other came with the talent one, 

All laden with sheaves an hundredfold, 
And the Master called him his own dear son, 

As he opened wide the gates of gold. 

Only one talent and it so small ! 

Yet that is the Master's gift to me,* 
And he does not ask great things of all, 

If only we serve him faithfully. 
Only one talent, a precious store. 

And if I labor my very best. 
The Master will make it more and more, 

And the smallest effort will be blest. 



4» 4» 4» 



BURDENS 

Wb all must bear them. Vain regret. 

Love's longing for some dear lost face 
Which even sleep cannot forget, 

Or yet the coming years replace ; 
The disappointment all must know, 

When hope's mirage proves but a dream. 
The finding Marah's waters flow 

Where tempting wayside fountains gleam. 



38 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

We all must bear them. Some may smile, 

And hide their burden in a song; 
And others may be silent, while 

They learn to suffer and grow strong. 
We find no balm in Gilead's vale, 

No recompense for pain and loss, 
And oft our weary efforts fail 

To lift the pressure of the cross. 

We all must bear them. Why despair? 

The winepress is not trod alone. 
The promise is, that He will care, 

As doth a father, for his own. 
Our burdens may become our wings. 

For underneath, his arms will be ; 
And through our sighing sweetly rings, 

"Sufficient is my grace for thee." 



4» 4f 4» 



LITTLE THINGS 

Not for great things, dear Lord, I ask, 

Mine is no heavy cross. 
Thou hast not given some mighty task. 

Nor crushed my soul with loss. 
No martyr's fire kindles my heart, 

With its enduring flame ; 
Nor need I fear pride's subtle dart, 

No praises sound my name. 



HUMILITY 39 

Yet little thorns beneath my feet, 

Wound oft in brightest hours, 
Temptations small, yet seeming sweet, 

Lurk in the fairest flowers ; 
But need I speak of pain and care, 

That thou alone dost know? 
Only in ground thou dost prepare 

Can fruit immortal grow. 

I ask these little trying things, 

I cannot understand. 
May be unto my soul as wings. 

Beneath thy guiding hand ; 
And every moment, all my days. 

Keep evil passions still. 
That I may live a life of praise, 

Fulfilling thy sweet will. 

^ 4» 4» 

HUMILITY 

The lowest place is far too high. 
For one so little worth as I — 

I would still lower be; 
For when I bring my perfume sweet, 
I would not stoop to kiss those feet. 

That walked o'er thorns for me. 

Dear Lord, I would still lower be — 
So low my vain eyes could not see 
The places of the great ; 



40 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

But looking upward unto thee, 
Thy loveliness and majesty 
Would more than compensate. 

O! holy One, so lowly, meek. 
No higher gift than this I seek — 

Thy own humility. 
If I were high I might forget 
The place was thine, and sometimes let 

The world keep me from thee. 

O ! make me low, but let no pride 
Of meekness thy own glory hide; 

But let my whole life be. 
Humility like thine which wore 
A servant's garb, and sweetly bore 

A heavy cross for me. 

4» 4» 4» 

WAITING 

The heart that dares to wait will know 

The sweet fulfillment of its dreams. 
What matter if days come and go. 
The brave wheat grows beneath the snow, 
Though utter loss the waiting seems. 

Some, like impatient children, look 
For freedom ere the task is done. 
Nor needful disappointment brook, 
And blur with tears life's unlearned book 
And die the victory unwon. 



A HEART'S DESIRE 41 

While others read God's thought aright 
In patient earth and ages past, 

That time is nothing in his sight, 

Endurance is the power of might, 
And he who waits is crowned at last. 

4» 4» 4» 

A HEART'S DESIRE 
I WOULD not pray for earthly bliss. 

Though it is dear to me; 
For I have learned joy comes amiss. 

When not a gift from thee. 
I know how human fathers plan 

To give some glad surprise, 
And thou, who lovest more than man, 

Must be more kind and wise. 
Yet may I ask each joy to share 

With some one who has less? 
My bread may save hearts from despair 

If thou wilt break and bless. 
But if I suffer pain and loss, 

Let no one sadder be; 
May none be shadowed by the cross 

That thou wouldst bear with me! 

4» 4» 4» 

MY CROSS 
I TAKE this cross, dear Jesus, 

Enough for me 
That all its pain and burden 

Was borne by thee. 



42 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

And that thy love is choosing, 

What is the best, 
The shortest, sweetest leading 

To perfect rest. 

If there are tears, dear Jesus, 

Thou, too, hast wept ; 
Thy heart with grief o'erflowing, 

Where Lazarus slept. 
If long I for a desert 

By man untrod. 
Thou, too, hid when most weary, 

Alone with God. 

I know this cross was given 

But for my joy. 
To make my heart thy treasure 

Free from alloy. 
And when my eyes are lifted 

To thee for strength and grace, 
I see above my burden 

Thy gentle, smiling face. 



4» 4f 4» 

THOU DOST ABIDE WITH ME 

Outside the night is dark, the winds are wailing, 
The storm is sobbing at my chamber door. 

And tempests beat with efiforts unavailing 

To break the lock and cross the threshold o'er ; 



THOU DOST ABIDE WITH ME 43 

It matters not the leafless world is dreary 
And storms are sweeping over land and sea, 

That this frail dust is worn with travel weary, 
Dear Lord, thou dost abide with me. 



I hear afar the sound of bitter weeping 

From those who shut on thee their household 
door, 
And now through every room the flood is creeping 

And all their treasures swept the waves before. 
But I like some blest child so sweetly sleeping 

Through wildest storm upon its mother's knee, 
I in my room am golden sunlight keeping, 

For, Lord, thou dost abide with me. 

I know not where my pilgrim staff will take me. 

Through pleasant paths, or dark and barren 
land, 
I only know that thou will not forsake me, 

I still will feel the pressure of thy hand. 
If through the desert thou wilt go before me. 

And still support me on the troubled sea. 
No bitter waves of trouble can go o'er me. 

For, Lord, thou dost abide with me. 

Oh, shelter from the storm. Oh, priceless blessing, 
To entertain a guest so sweet and fair, 

To him the wealth of heaven and earth possessing 
I surely can my richest chamber spare. 



44 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

But that is not enough where all is owing, 
My soul throws open every door to thee, 

And sings, my cup of life with joy o'erflowing. 
Dear Lord, thou dost abide with me. 

4» 4> 4» 

PEACE 

Human hearts are like an ocean, 
Ever with a troubled motion. 

Throbbing with the wild wind's breath, 
Weary with the ceaseless wailingj 
And the efforts unavailing 

To find rest in life or death. 

God's sweet peace is like a river, 
Flowing from the throne forever, 

And reflecting Heaven serene. 
With a gladness in its singing. 
And such beauty with it bringing 

That it leaves its pathway green. 

Ah ! the sea is sad and lonely, 
Beating on the gray rocks only. 

With no blossoms on its breast; 
But the river calm is flowing 
Where the forests green are growing 

And the water lilies rest. 

There are hearts that like the ocean 
Struggle in a wild commotion. 
Vainly sighing for release; 



THE LACE MAKER 45 

There are those that like the river 
Find God's path and sing forever 
His sweet melody of peace. 



4* 4* 4* 

THE LACE MAKER 

The sunshine on the convent floor 

Fell first upon the patient face 
Of Sister Mercy bending o'er 

Her cushion with its matchless lace. 
Long had she toiled, from matin bell 

Till vesper songs rang through the night, 
Unmindful of her lonely cell, 

Unheeding pain and failing sight. 

A pattern delicate and rare. 

Too difficult for hands unskilled, 
She wove into the texture fair. 

And thus her daily task fulfilled. 
One joy she had beside her prayer: 

This fleecy gossamer-like thing 
They said the noble bride would wear 

Within the palace of the king. 

"I can but do a little part. 
Who work with me I cannot see, 

I may not know with all my art 
How beautiful the whole will be. 



46 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

But it is for the king," she said, 

"And love for him makes toiling sweet." 

One day they found the toiler dead, 
Her work of beauty all complete. 

We too are given, day by day, 

A pattern for our King to trace. 
Some in dark colors meek and gray, 

Weave pain with all its patient grace. 
While others work with richest hues. 

And flowers beneath their fingers spring. 
What matter, so our work be true, 

And "Well done," greets us from our King? 

l|» 4» 4|> 

BETHEL 

Under the starlight, sad, weary, and lone, 
Rested the pilgrim, his pillow a stone. 

Yet through his dreaming 
Saw he the angels God's children attend 
On a bright ladder ascend and descend. 

With glory beaming. 

Heard he God speaking as speaks friend to 

friend, 
"I will be with thee, fear not, to the end." 

This promise given, 
"This is a Bethel," the wanderer said, 
"This stone is holy that pillowed my head, 

I have seen heaven." 



GOD GIVETH THE INCREASE 47 

Stars shine in darkness, the weary and lone, 
See shining pathways which angels have known, 

Ladders of prayer, 
Out of some sorrow a Bethel they raise. 
Where idle grieving was turned into praise, 

For God met them there. 



4» if 4» 



GOD GIVETH THE INCREASE 

"Neither is he that planteth anything, neither he that 
watereth; but God that giveth the increase." — 1 Cor. 3. 7. 

I SOWED my seed in the morning, 

And watered it oft with tears. 
And prayed that I might be gleaning 

Rich grain through the future years. 
But I waited, with heart despairing. 

O'er barren, unfruitful sod. 
Till I heard the sweet assurance^ 

"The increase cometh from God." 

I broke my bread with thanksgiving, 

Rejoiced that my little store 
Could help God's suffering children, 

And prayed that I might give more. 
But I heard the cry of hunger 

From those who around me trod ; 
For a loaf to feed a thousand. 

The increase must come from God. 



48 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

I spoke some words to the sinful, 

Pleading with quivering breath, 
For I would have died in anguish 

To have saved a soul from death ; 
Yet they passed the truth unheeding, 

And cared not for love or rod; 
But I said, "Mine was the message, 

The increase can come from God." 

I rest on this blessed promise, 

Nor grieve when I see no sign 
Of fruit where my hands are toiling, 

Or life from some word of mine. 
No effort will be forgotten, 

Though I rest beneath the sod. 
And others gather the harvest. 

The increase will come from God. 



4» 4» ♦ 



SUCCESS 

Wilt thou succeed? Some cross the heights 

And leave red footprints on the snow. 
Count well the cost of Alpine lights, 

Or dream where valley lilies grow. 
The pelican will feed her own. 

Though earth and sea refuse their part. 
And he who is with heroes known, 

Must give the world his living heart. 



MY HARVEST 49 

The One who conquered death with love, 
Alone the ruddy wine press trod, 

But thou canst reach the goal above, 
In close companionship with God. 

4» 4» 4» 

MY HARVEST 

Often think I of the harvest, 

Lying ripening in the sun, 
Of the work, that for the Master, 

By his reapers must be done. 
Of the hearts that faint and weary. 

Know not of the Saviour's love, 
Know not of the heavenly mansions 

In our Father's home above. 

And sometimes my heart grows weary. 

As alone in pain I lie, 
Doing nothing for the Master 

While the summer days pass by. 
Only listening to the echoes 

Of the busy hurrying feet. 
Only thinking of the reapers. 

Toiling on in storm and heat. 

Then I seem to hear a whisper. 
Like sweet music, soft and low: 

"Child, thy Father hears thee pleading, 
All thy longings he doth know. 



50 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Yet thy seedtime must be sufifering, 
In thy heart thy work must be; 

Thou must take the work of trusting, 
Thou must leave all else to me. 

"I would have thy harvest patience, 

Waiting I would teach to thee, 
Faith and love must be thy lessons, 

Thou must come and learn of me. 
Do not faint and do not murmur. 

That thy work can be no more; 
Thy reward the Father's keeping 

Till the harvest here is o'er." 

So I'll try to make my harvest 

Patience, faith, and trusting love, 
When a sympathetic Father 

Sends my work from heaven above. 
Knowing when among the reapers. 

He of my poor help hath need, 
He will give me strength to labor. 

He will then my footsteps lead. 

if 4» 4» 

JUST FOR TO-DAY 

"As thy day so shall thy strength be." 
Just for to-day; to-morrow is not mine. 
And may be spent where days unclouded shine. 
This cross is heavy for an upward way, 
My weak hands tremble ; give me strength to-day. 



THE VALLEY OF HUMILITY 51 

Just for to-day; the poorest child am I 
That heavenward looks, yet ravens when they cry 
Keceive thy bounty though despised are they; 
Remember, then, this lowly heart to-day. 

Just for to-day ; thy manna food I ask 

That I may go rejoicing on my task, 

And if from cooling streams my feet should stray, 

Let some rock prove a fountain for to-day. 

Just for to-day ; it is much better so ; 
I might grow arrogant did I not know 
My poverty, yet find it sweet to say, 
"It is thy gift, the blessings of to-day." 

Just for to-day ; what more can heart demand 
From One who will each longing understand? 
Thy love withholds no treasure, so I pray: 
"Choose what may come, but give me strength 
to-day." 

4» 4» 4» 

THE VALLEY OF HUMILITY 

Down in a lonely valley, 

A dark, forbidding place, 
I see the fairest vision 

Of my Redeemer's face; 
For self here casts no shadow, 

To make his presence dim. 
Thus with my eyes unclouded 

I gaze alone on him. 



52 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Hushed in its holy quiet, 

My spirit soon forgets 
The world with its temptation, 

The care that jars and frets. 
The pride I hate yet cherish 

Lies humbled in the dust. 
While in its place are springing 

New blooms of hope and trust. 

Why shun this lowly valley? 

Ah, it is reached with pain. 
And self-love crucifixion 

Alone its peace will gain. 
Yet not from shining mountain 

Do I such visions see, 
As from this lonely valley 

Of deep humility. 



4» 4» 4» 



WHAT CAN I DO FOR THE MASTER? 

What can I do for the Master, 

As the bright-eyed stars grow pale. 
While the east is flushing crimson, 

And the birds the dawning hail? 
I can ask for wondrous blessing 

On seeds that will fall to-day; 
To hasten the Master's coming 

At daybreak my soul can pray. 



WHAT CAN I DO FOR THE MASTER? 53 

What can I do for the Master, 

While the morn is fresh and fair, 
For I cannot leave the garden, 

That now is my special care? 
I can give a smile to the reapers 

As they haste to the harvest white, 
While I tenderly lift some blossom. 

That has fallen from the light. 

What can I do for the Master, 

While dazzling the noonheat glows. 
And pausing amid their labors, 

The weary ones seek repose? 
I can tell of the loaves and fishes 

Which a hungry multitude fed, 
And One who is lovingly waiting 

To give to us all heaven's bread. 

What can I do for the Master 

In the long bright afternoon? 
I now must hasten my labors, 

For the nighttime cometh soon. 
I can glean where the busy reapers 

Have forgotten the golden grain. 
And where under quick feet trodden 

The delicate flowers have lain. 

What can I do for the Master 

Now that the twilight lifts 
The edge of night's heavy curtain. 

And down the first starlight drifts? 



54 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

I can sing a sweet song softly 
Of the Shepherd who seeks his own, 

It may reach the little children, 
Or some heart that has weary grown. 

What can I do for the Master 

Before I join those who know 
The sleep he giveth his children 

When the stars above them glow? 
I can praise him with heart overflowing, 

For using my talent small, 
For the weakest can be his servant, 

The poorest can hear his call. 
iff, <^ ^ 

THE FIRST MIRACLE 

"Bring water," then the gracious Master said, 
"And fill these earthen vessels to the brim." 

"Pour forth!" And fragrant was the wine and 
red 
That caught its glowing flow of life from him. 

The One who thus the Cana wedding blest, 
Comes often to this lowly home of mine; 

At first I welcomed thus my holy Guest: 
"What can I offer. Lord? I have no wine." 

No wine! I who had dreamed that life would 
glow. 

As the sky and sea when the sun goes down. 
No wine! Yet my spirit panted to know 

The race with the strong and the victor's crown. 



TWO PETITIONS 55 

"Then fill every vessel full to the brim 

With such as you have," was my Lord's re- 
quest ; 

So I brought all my quiet life to him, 
With its hope deferred and its deep unrest. 

Then he bade me drink. Could this cup be 
mine? 

Such nectar it never had known before. 
Ah, see, with his touch it is purest wine 

That is flowing my little chalice o'er! 

No longer I sigh for a richer feast; 

In life's common duties there glows divine 
The light of his presence, and I, the least 

Of his lowly children, taste Cana's wine. 

And I pray as I daily pass the cup 

To others whose lives are less blessed than 
mine 
While I lift, in his name, my chalice up, 

That its water may turn to living wine. 

4* 4* 4» 

TWO PETITIONS 

One cried in earnest, trustful prayer, 
"Lord, take this burden from my heart. 

Lift from my brow its weight of care. 
Which makes a crown of thorns my part. 



56 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Choose not the lonely, trying way 
By dark Gethsemane for me, 

But lead me gently day by day. 
In pleasant pathways up to thee." 

Another voiced his soul in prayer, 

"Lord, help with burdens that are best, 
For I have found that pain and care 

Have made me on thy bosom rest. 
Others have thorny pathways too, 

Let me their loving helper be. 
Give me thy hardest tasks to do, 

If they but lead me nearer thee." 

One left his burdens to repine 

In idleness at blessings lost. 
For thorns and roses intertwine. 

And toil and pain repay their cost. 
One grew so strong he did not heed 

The rugged way of care he trod. 
An almoner for souls in need. 

He went on singing up to God. 

4» 4» 4» 

THE STARLESS CROWN 

"Mine is a starless crown," she said, 

"For up unto the mercy seat 
Not one poor, wandering soul I've led. 

In heaven none will my name repeat, 



THE STARLESS CROWN 57 

And say, 'You led my trembling feet 

To where the waters, gushing sweet, 

Refreshed and made me whole.' 



"But He knows best who sent me pain; 
And I rejoice no praise of mine 

Will mingle in the sweet refrain, 

And take away the glory thine. 
Dear Lord, for souls redeemed that shine. 
And round thy coronal entwine," 
And so she fell asleep. 



"Whose crown is this?" the angel said; 

For unto him was given 
The crowning of each saintly head 

That passed from earth to heaven. 
Adown the vista's golden light, 
Where crowned heads whose circles bright 
Surpassed the starry gems of night, 

His gaze went searching far. 

The perfume from the lilies fair. 
And roses, such as Eden knew. 

Fragrant and thornless, filled the air, 
Their dulcet incense stealing through 

Green trees, whose leaves could never fade. 

While underneath their verdant shade 

A silver stream its pathway made; 
The river which is Life. 



58 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

From far and near the symphony 

Of golden harps and voices clear, 
Blending in perfect harmony, 

The soul of music, thrilled the ear; 
Glad hearts, with ecstasy replete, 
Cast down their crowns before the feet 
Of the Adored, while praises sweet 
Reechoed to his name. 

"Whose crown is this?" again he said. 
And scanned with care the faces o'er; 

But no one came, with uncrowned head. 
To claim the diadem he bore. 

"Few crowns are set with gems so rare; 

So he who can these jewels wear 

Must by hard toil and earnest prayer 
Have led souls unto God." 

Those waiting their reward spoke not ; 

None dared demand the crown of light; 
Yet there were those whose weary lot 

Had been harsh toil from morn till night ; 
Some workers in the vineyard strong, 
And some had labored late and long, 
But unto them did not belong 

The crown so rich with stars. 

A brilliant light illumed the place ; 

And there the Saviour stood, a smile 
Of welcome lighting up his face, 

Calling them each by name the while. 



THE STARLESS CROWN 59 

He gave the crowns, some jeweled bright, 
And others starless crowns of light, 
But kept the one with gems so bright 
Until the last one came. 

With trembling form a woman knelt 

And kissed the feet that thorns had known, 

Nor raised her eyes until she felt 
Her name was called in tender tone. 

A soft hand rested on her head, 

"Art ready for thy crown?" He said; 

"Hast thou some lamb to shelter led, 
Some wanderer reclaimed?" 

"Dear Father, I have lived in vain; 

Thy love is all the crown I ask. 
I only bore a cross of pain. 

Whilst waiting was my lowly task. 
I could but pray, by day and night, 
For toilers in the harvest white. 
For those who struggled for the right, 

And trusted all to thee." 

"Well done, my child," the Father said. 
And placed the glowing starry crown 

Upon the lowly, drooping head. 

"Thy life was free from earth's renown. 

But many saw thy patient grace, 

And read my message in thy face. 

He serves who faithful holds his place. 
And this is thy reward." 



6o SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

THE CROSS 

Cross, whose name, I find, is love, 
My anchor on life's stormy sea, 

1 once raised tearful eyes above. 
And missed the beauty hid in thee. 

O Cross, I called to God in vain 
To have thee taken from my sight, 

The emblem of redemption's pain, 
I did not know led to the light. 

O love, that heard my selfish cry. 
Yet as a mother understood, 

The Cross still left against my sky. 
Has been for me my highest good. 

Cross, that led me on my way. 
Through burning desert, o'er the sea, 

1 did not see thy shade by day. 
Nor fire at night, still leading me. 

Cross of love, from grateful eyes 
The scales of earthly blindness fall. 

1 found through thee my paradise, 
I see in thee, my Christ, my all. 

if 4» 4» 

SILENT PRAYER 

I TORE me from the world apart 
And hushed my overburdened heart 
For silent prayer; 



THE EVERLASTING ARMS 6i 

Desires came rushing up the stairs, 
I built above my worldly cares, 
To get their share. 

So many needs for those I love 
Were urgent that they climbed above 

My petty claims; 
Yet from my altar hopes and fears 
Ascended, some the plea of years, 

Like raging flames. 

Then through the silence came a voice, 
"Men when they pray should first rejoice," 

And I whose days 
Had often been in pastures green, 
In shame for blessings scarcely seen. 

Bent low in praise. 

"God who in love cares for his own," 
I thought I heard in tender tone, 

And I, in quest 
Of needed blessings, understood 
That for me there was only good, 

And was at rest. 

4» 4» 4» 

THE EVERLASTING ARMS 

I REST me in the Arms of Love, 
And wait until the way grows clear. 

What matters heavens dark above. 
Or broken tempests sobbing near 



62 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Like souls lost in a desert drear 
While underneath are Arms of Love? 

He trod the wine press all alone, 
With patience bore the thorn and cross, 

Yet old earth trembled with his moan 

When broke his heart with sense of loss — 
Ah ! that "forsaken" comes across 

The ages to uphold his own. 

I rest me in the Arms of God, 
Who knows the claims of human dust 

And leaves none lonely, since he trod 
Alone the way his children must. 
The upward pathway of the just 

Is girded by the Arms of God. 

4> 4> 4» 

THE WAY TO SUNSHINE LAND 

Oh, where is the path to Sunshine Land? 

I tire of the rain and the wind's sad cry, 
The moan of anguish on every hand. 

And the shadow of Death across the sky. 
I would follow the sun above the mist. 
Above where the cloud with gold was kist. 

Oh, how to that land can my spirit fly? 

A voice spoke near that was low and sweet, 
"Here are wings of faith that will lift you quite 

Out of the valley of cloud and woe 

To the upward Land that is always bright, 



JESUS ENTHRONED 63 

And hope is the anchor you needs must take, 
If shadows of earth you would forsake, 
For the Land that is filled with joy and light. 

"Here is a star you must always wear, 
The star that is Love with its healing beams. 

And others with weight of pain and care 

Can climb through the gloom by that star's 
bright gleams, 

And if wings and anchors should downward trail, 

Love is the light that will never fail 

In that Sunshine Land of your golden dreams." 



4* 4» 4» 



JE8US ENTHRONED 

Oh, Jesus, come and find a place 

Within this empty heart of mine. 
Though all unworthy such a grace, 

It longs to make for thee a shrine. 
It needs thy presence to endure 

The cleansing fires of loss and pain, 
Thy holiness to keep it pure. 

Oh, come, and evermore remain. 

I clamored once for lesser things. 
And found in answer such unrest, 

My spirit longs to fold its wings 
And still their throbbings on thy breast. 



64 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

My prayers are not a cry of greed ; 

Ambition, love, and worldly pride 
Forgotten are in one great need, 

To have thee in my soul abide. 

I do not ask that I may be 

Transported from this strife with sin; 
It is enough a soul with thee 

Has constant paradise within. 
Take every idol from my heart 

That hinders thy enduring throne; 
Oh, Jesus, more than life thou art, 

And I will live for thee alone. 



♦ ♦ ♦ 



THROUGH THE VALLEY 

Not where his happy flocks are feeding 
In pastures green, life's cares unheeding, 

He leads to-day; 
Nor where still waters are restoring 
The weary souls in rest adoring, 

I take my way ; 
But where Death's shadow ever flying 
Makes dark the valley of the dying, 

When faith burns low. 
And love has lost its power of aiding. 
As beauty into dust is fading. 

My feet must go. 



MY PLACE 65 

And yet no evil can come o'er me, 
For my dear Shepherd goes before me, 

And keeps me near; 
And I will heed his words of blessing, 
That are my timid ears caressing, 

To banish fear. 

When in green pastures I was straying 
Earth seemed the place for ever staying. 

And it is well, 
Awhile beside Death's silent river. 
Not seeking gifts, but with the Giver, 

In peace to dwell. 

▼ *1* *f* 

MY PLAGE 

I DO not ask, dear Lord, there be 
A place made small enough for me, 

But I be made by thee to fill. 
The place appointed by thy will. 

Naught can I give, I come to claim 
The promises that bear thy name. 

My poverty I leave, to feel 

The riches that thy words reveal. 

The weakness I have learned at length. 
Exchange I for thy power and strength. 

My pride, so foolish, had I known 
That which thou asked was thine own, 



66 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

I crumbled in the dust to be 
Sweet blossoms of humility. 

My will — forgive the struggle past — 
My will, dear Lord, is thine, at last. 

Emptied and broken here I lie 
Too near for thee to pass me by, 

But fill me with thy Spirit so, 
Through me the stream of life will flow. 

If where the lofty cedars grow 

On mountains crowned with endless snow, 

Or in the meadow land below. 
Where lilies of the valley grow, 

Through this poor vessel mean and small. 
Let blessings on thy children fall. 

Thus I, who dare not lift mine eyes 
To places shining near the skies, 

And am afraid my skill to trust 
In lifting blossoms from the dust, 

I who did even dare refuse 

To follow thee in rough ways, choose 

Wherever thou canst use me best — 
That is my place, my joy, my rest. 



GATHER JEWELS FOR THE KING 67 

GATHER JEWELS FOR THE KING 

O EAGER hand, for what are you trying? 

For the gold the rugged mountains keep? 
For the pure white pearls, their beauty lying 

'Neath the tangled seaweed of the deep ? 
Or searching the sands of distant river. 

Where the precious starlike diamonds hide? 
Or waiting beside some ocean ever. 

For ships that left with the morning tide? 

O restless brain, o'er what are you burning? 

O'er secrets hid in some ancient lore? 
Or the mystic leaves of Nature turning. 

To read where others were foiled before? 
Or striving that ere the struggle closes, 

A crown of laurel may grace your head? 
That now your name may be wreathed with roses, 

And still live on when others are dead? 

O ransomed soul, for what are you living? 

For what are your labors, prayers, and tears ? 
Oh, what is there worth the priceless giving — 

Time to prepare for immortal years? 
Do you gather flowers that fade while blowing 

Their sweetness upon the air of June? 
Do you rest where ripened grain is growing, 

Though the nighttime cometh all too soon? 

The gold of mountain and gems of ocean 
Were worth the struggle if life meant less. 

But what can repay a soul's devotion 
But that which eternal years will bless? 



68 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Can the gold and gems of earth be taken 
When the King comes for his jewels bright? 

When the crowns of earth are all forsaken, 
And the spirit takes its upward flight? 

There are jewels worth a life's hard toiling, 

Lost in sin's ocean and shame's dark waves, 
And gems the rust of the world is spoiling, 

And gold buried deep in living graves ; 
Gather those jewels, though cold billows breaking 

In tempests around you bitterness bring; 
Save those rare gems, though heart may be ach- 
ing; 

Oh, gather the jewels for the King ! 

There is not a soul so black with sinning 

That the Lamb's pure blood cannot restore ; 
Then let all your strength be spent in winning 

The lost to his loving arms once more. 
Then life will be like a peaceful river. 

And death its "Well done!" and crown will 
bring. 
While in his bright homes will shine forever 

The jewels you gathered for the King. 
4» ^ 4> 

IF THIS WERE ALL 
If this were all, hearts might grow dumb with 
sorrow. 
Meeting life's sea of anguish wave on wave, 
If for the waiting soul no bright to-morrow 
Its cheering hope and inspiration gave; 



GOD'S PROMISES 69 

For who has not seen dearest idols perish, 

The stars that pierced the midnight disappear, 

The loved ones that the heart did fondly cherish 
Lie all unconscious of love's falling tear? 

If this were all, this garden where is hiding 

The serpent in each poisoned, perfumed flower, 
Where human faith and love alone abiding 

From ruined Eden, feel the tempter's power; 
Where golden honors in the dust are broken, 

Where cruel Death tears heart from wedded 
heart, 
And sends across the voiceless gulf no token — 

If this were all, O who could bear his part ! 

This is not all : the mists of earth are veiling 

The angel eyes that watch and cheer us on. 
They whisper when the heart is nearly failing. 

And bid us turn our sighing into song ; 
For there is One the wine press trod before us. 

That not alone our weary feet should stray. 
Then sing with joy as do the angels o'er us, 

For from our night dawns everlasting day. 

4» <!» 4» 

GOD'S PROMISES 

When I cannot see before me 

A single step of the way, 
When the mist is hanging o*er me, 

Obscuring the light of day, 



70 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Or, when like a ship o'ertaken 
By the fog, when rocks are near, 

Or a little child forsaken, 

In some moorland wild and drear; 

Then a beacon glows before me, 

As bright as a star above. 
For an angel whispers o'er me. 

Some promise God made in love. 
How he guideth them that fear him. 

Nor letteth them go astray. 
And keepeth the weak ones near him, 

Each step of the upward way. 

For each trial and smallest sorrow 

Some promise of help is made, 
For every care of the morrow 

God giveth his word to aid; 
Then let us go on with gladness. 

And trust where we cannot see, 
He promises joy for sadness. 

And that is enough for me. 

4» 4» ^ 

TRANSMUTED 

Oh, angel with the sword of flame, 

Is this the Holy City? 
I am a pilgrim worn and claim 

Your tender care and pity. 
Why wait I fainting at the gate. 
When it is late, when it is late? 



TRANSMUTED 71 

I have not come through seas of blood, 

A martyr's halo winning, 
Nor from the deep tempestuous flood, 

Where men delight in sinning. 
The star of hope has led me straight, 
Then why a warden at the gate? 

Now that the toilsome day is o'er, 

And evening bells are ringing, 
I marvel that I walked not more 

With smiles and joyful singing. 
How strange seem thoughts of fear or hate. 
Before this angel-guarded gate! 

I thought I with the toilers went, 

Now sowing and now reaping, 
Upon the Master's work intent. 

But when I passed death's sleeping, 
I saw my tasks had not been great. 
My works could not unbar the gate. 

Oh, angel with the sword of flame, 

The Christ so sweet and holy 
I love, and ask in his dear name, 

Some work though far and lowly. 
What! was that sword a shining hand 
To welcome me to this fair land? 



POEMS OF 
SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION 



THE LIGHT KEEPER'S DAUGHTER 

The pale moon hid her face ; the glitt'ring stars 
Retired above the blackness of the night. 
The wild winds moaned, as if some human soul 
In fetters bound was struggling to be free ; 
The ocean leaped and swayed his long white arms 
Up in the darkness with a sullen roar. 
Across the heavy gloom of night there came 
The faint light from the tower, and when the moon 
Peeped from her floating vail of clouds, she sent 
A gleam across the waters, rushing mad. 

Against the angry sky 
The lighthouse stood, whose beacon light foretold 
The danger to bold ships that neared the rocks 
While daylight slept. 

In the tower by the sea, there, all alone. 

The keeper's pretty daughter trimmed the lamp. 

And as the water sparkled in the light, 

''God save the sailors on the sea," she prayed; 

"The night is wild ; my father gone, and near 

Are rocks which vessels wreck when storms are 

high; 
I will not sleep, but watch beside the light, 
For some may call for help." 

And so she sat 
Beside the window o'er the sea, and scanned 

75 



76 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

With large, dark eyes the troubled waters' 

foam, 
Unheeding as the wind her tresses tossed, 
Or spray baptized her brow. 

A muffled sound 
Trembles upon the air, above the storm ; 
Why strain her eager eyes far in the night? 
Was it the wind, or but the ocean's heart 
Beating against the cliffs? 
Ah, no! Ah, no! 
It was the signal gun — the cry for help ! 
Now seen, now lost, the lights upon the ship 
Glimmer above the wave. 

Her inmost soul, with anguish stirred, sobs out, 
"A vessel on the rocks, and none to save I" 
Again that far, faint death knell of the doomed 
Upon her young heart falls. "They shall not 

die. 
I rescue them, or perish in their grave !" 
Her strong arms, nerved by heart long trained 
To suffer and to dare for highest good, 
Conquers in spite of warring elements ; 
The boat is launched ; one instant does she pause 
And lift her soul in prayer. 'Tis silent. 
But angels hear, and bear it on their wings 
To the AU-Fatherj and the strength comes down. 
The wind howls loud ; the cruel, sullen waves 
Toss the frail bark as children toss a toy ; 
All nature tries to baffle one brave soul 
As, beautiful and bold, she still toils on. 
Unheeding all except one thought, one hope. 



THE LIGHT KEEPER'S DAUGHTER 77 

She nears the vessel beating 'gainst the rocks; 
A wave sweeps o'er her, but her heart is stayed 
By cries for "help" from hearts half dead with 

fear; 
Upon the tossing ship they watch and pray, 
While nearer draws deliverance. One more 

bound, 
The ship is reached, and not a moment lost. 
The boat is filled. Again she braves the sea. 
This time with precious freight, the while the 

waves. 
Thus cheated of their prey, mourn in revenge. 

The moon between the clouds in pity smiles; 
The waves are broken into tears above 
The boat of life ; resisting wind and wave, 
They near the land, and unseen hands direct, 
And one Eye, never sleeping, watches all. 
Upon the shore the fishers' wives knelt down. 
And clasped their loved ones, given from the 

grave ; 
Young children sobbed their gratitude, and clung 
To fathers they had never hoped to kiss; 
Strong men were not afraid of tears, which fell 
Like April rain, as with their wives and babes 
They knelt upon the bleak seashore, to pray. 
Up to the sky a glad thanksgiving rose ; 
The wind ceased wailing, and the stars came out ; 
Joy filled all hearts, and noble Grace was blessed. 
The earth grew brighter, for the angels sang 
In heaven to God a glad, sweet song of praise. 



78 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

WAITING 
She sat where the sea was blushing, 

The hues of the rosy west, 
With songs and caresses hushing 

The baby upon her breast; 
She waited with dark eyes roaming 

Far out o'er the water blue, 
For came in the dusky gloaming 

Her fisherman brave and true. 

'Tis late, for the gulls are flying 

To nests that the dark cliffs hide. 
He comes when the day is dying, 

At flowing in of the tide; 
He left when the morn was glowing — 

So handsome and bright and strong — 
And now the first star is showing. 

He surely will come erelong. 

So she waited, softly singing 

To quiet her fears to rest. 
And hoped that the waves were bringing 

Her love to her faithful breast, 
And the evening fire was burning, 

And the window candle bright. 
Where, o'er the sea returning. 

He would see its welcome light. 

She waited while night was trailing 
His dark wings over the deep. 

And the restless waves were wailing 
Like a child in troubled sleep ; 



GOOD TO MOTHER 79 

She watched with her dim eyes aching, 

And sobs instead of a song, 
And murmured with heart nigh breaking, 

"He surely will come erelong." 

O, woe to the young wife keeping 

Her watch by the cruel sea, 
And woe to the fair child sleeping 

So sweetly upon her knee; 
For an empty boat is drifting 

Far out on the sea to-night. 
And the ebbing tide is lifting 

A face that is cold and white. 

O, woe to the hearts that ever 

Are waiting with hopes and fears 
To realize dreams that never 

Can come from the vanished years ; 
For many a heart has broken 

That was glad with hope before. 
When the sea left some sad token 

That love would return no more. 



4» 4f 4» 



GOOD TO MOTHER 

I LOOKED at her girlhood beauty, 
A rose that was hardly blown. 

And asked what would be her future 
When life's morning hours had flown. 



8o SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

She answered, "Ohj high ambitions 
Were once every thought and plan, 

But now I must care for mother 
And give her what rest I can." 

I smiled as I saw the welcome 

The mother received that night, 
And that every little service 

Was given with real delight. 
"The young now are often thoughtless," 

I said, "of the debt they owe." 
"She always cares for her mother," 

Said my friend with face aglow. 

I heard with a pang of sorrow 

That God had taken away 
The maiden so kind and loving, 

Whose mother came first each day, 
And I longed to carve in marble 

Where the darling lies at rest — 
"She always was good to mother, 

A daughter that did her best." 

Ah! many a weary woman 

Would find life a path of peace 
If the girls who care for mother 

Would in our dear homes increase. 
And perhaps the holy mission 

Of this spirit early blest. 
May still be the care of mother, 

Till she enters into rest. 



LOVE 8 1 

LOVE 
"My heart is dead," she moaned, "for love is gone. 
How can I, weary, helpless, struggle on? 
How can I up life's thorny pathway grope. 
The light of Heaven gone with all my hope?" 
And thus she knelt to pray at eventide, 
Unconscious that an angel by her side 
Held o'er her head a golden crown, 
A galaxy of stars the king sent down. 
She saw not, for her eyes were dim with tears 
Thinking of unloved, lonely, future years. 
But breaking through the tempest of her woe, 
She heard the angel whisper, sweet and low, 
"Love is not gone while life remains, for still 
Are empty hearts thy tenderness can fill, 
And weary souls for thee to lead above; 
Take courage and be strong, for God is love." 
As storm clouds, with the darkened wings sweep 

by, 

Hiding the stars that burn serene and high. 
The storm swept through her soul and it was 

night, 
But as clouds parted came the peaceful light 
Of distant stars where angels sang above. 
And all the burden of their song was "Love." 

She knelt in tears, but rose with glad smiles 

crowned, 
A pilgrim who the Holy Grail found. 
She lived to love, to minister, to save. 
Nor sought for love's reward, but only gave 



82 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

The richness of her life, as flowers at death 
Yield up their pure sweet souls in perfumed 

breath. 
She asked not love's return, but as tired feet 
On rugged mountain paths press blossoms sweet, 
She found life's flowers, for though there never 

came 
Fame's laurels, or more precious that dear name 
That crowns a woman's life, young children 

pressed 
Toward her arms as birdlings to their nest, 
And young hearts aching with life's first grgat 

pain 
Brought her their sorrows and found peace again ; 
While sinful eyes that dared not look above. 
Through human tenderness saw God's great love. 
So was she blest and when the way seemed long, 
Her angel whispered, "God is love, be strong." 

At eventide she knelt to pray once more. 
Long years the golden hair had silvered o'er. 
To human eyes she seemed one old and lone. 
Whose feet a weary path of thorns had known; 
But kneeling now at eventide to pray. 
With happy grateful tears she could but say, 
"O what a blessed life to me was given. 
To find that love could make this earth a heaven !" 
The angel waiting for her prayer bent down 
And placed upon her head the starry crown. 
While angel hands unloosed the silver cord, 
And bore the patient soul to its reward, 



WHEN DAY STARS SLEEP 83 

And as they swept the pearly gates above, 
The joyful song fell earthward, "All is love/' 

*J* 4* 4» 

WHEN DAY STARS SLEEP 

When Lady Moon begins to call 

Her children to the fields of night, 
Upon the beaming earth stars fall. 

With gentle touch, soft curtains white. 
And as so much of brightness lies 

Beneath dark lashes hidden deep. 
The golden eyes, up in the skies. 

Keep open while the children sleep. 

When dream sand from the land of Nod 

Blows into stars that light the home, 
The mothers feel akin to God 

Who guides the night stars as they roam, 
For in the palace or the cot. 

The way to perfect blissful rest. 
Is through the love that falters not, 

But shelters childhood on her breast. 

When twilight folds away life's cares. 

The angels can come very near, 
And linger while the children's prayers 

Bring down God's holy kingdom here, 
And countless lullabies of love 

Up to the highest heavens sweep. 
When bright stars shine in skies above 

Because day stars have gone to sleep. 



84 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 



"SHE ALWAYS MADE HOME HAPPY" 

Within a country churchyard 

There is a lowly mound, 
And near its ivy cover 

An humble stone is found, 
Where in the tangled grasses 

And daisies tall and fair, 
"She always made home happy" 

Alone is chiseled there. 

Great deeds all men remember, 

Or battles fought and won, 
Are carved on costly marble 

That glitters in the sun; 
But none have nobler meanings 

Than this small tribute sweet 
Here hid mid summer blossoms 

Within a lone retreat. 

"She always made home happy" : 

This shows a loving heart, 
A patient, Christlike spirit, 

The doing well her part. 
Nor need we sigh at missing 

The laurel wreath of fame, 
For if we make home happy 

We leave a treasured name. 



A CHILD'S TRUST 85 

A CHILD'S TRUST 

"Come, laddie, see this shining gold," 

The stranger said. "Yours it shall be 
If you will but be brave and bold, 

And get that purple plant for me." 
How tempting this was those can know 

Who iBght with poverty and care; 
Yet, with the precipice below, 

It might be death to venture there. 

"Come, laddie, Scotland's lads are bold. 

That long-sought prize my own must be. 
See, I will double all this gold 

If you will bring that plant to me." 
The boy turned from the dark abyss 

And saw the cabin on the slope. 
Then said, "Poor mother needs all this ; 

I'll go if father'U hold the rope." 

Far down the dizzy height he swung. 

While clifif birds beat about his eyes. 
Upon the slender rope he hung. 

And, facing death, secured the prize. 
Nor thought of danger, but instead 

His heart beat high with pride and hope. 
"Were you afraid?" they asked. He said, 

"O no, for father held the rope." 

Nor should we fear though life may be 
A slender thread a breath might break. 

And down the shadows we may see 
Lights which make fearful souls to quake. 



86 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

It takes great effort for great joy, 
God's sure rewards give strength at last, 

And, like that trusting Highland boy, 
We know our Father holds us fast. 



♦ ♦ ♦ 

SPRING WEATHER 

"Let us go and find the spring, 
It's too late for anything; 
Winds so cold and skies so wet 
Are enough to make one fret," 
Pansy said, and John thought, too, 
There was nothing else to do. 
So they started off together. 
Hoping to find better weather. 

Paul came whistling down the street. 
Laughing at the wind and sleet. 
And he said in gleeful voice, 
"Doesn't it make one rejoice ? 
Spring is coming now erelong. 
For I heard a robin's song. 
And these noisy, driving showers 
Will wake all the sleeping fiowers. 
Folks say God sends rain or shine, 
And knows when to make it fine — 
Anyway we needn't fret. 
For this weather's all we get." 



MY POSSESSIONS 87 

"I suppose it's as you say, 
Weather is not made for play. 
Every day," said John, "shall be, 
Weather good enough for me." 

"And I know a sunny face 
Will make brighter any place, 
So I will not cry and scold 
If some days are wet and cold," 
Pansy said with happy smile. 
"Flowers will blossom after while." 
So they journeyed home together, 
Saying, "This is perfect weather." 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

MY POSSESSIONS 

You think I am poor and lonely, 

And live in a humble place? 
The fault is your eyesight only. 

You see but the things in space; 
So what will avail my telling 

Of wonderful things I own, 
The palace that is my dwelling. 

And groves where I love to roam. 

Ah, fair as Alhambra glowing, 

When first in the southern sun, 
With its sparkling fountains flowing, 

Its pillars rose one by one. 



88 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

My castle shines in its glory, 

Mosaic with gems and gold, 
And no lips can tell the story 

Of the wealth its turrets hold. 

My fields with rich grain are teeming, 

My woodland is always green, 
And streams through white lilies gleaming, 

Are clearest on earth, I ween. 
I can hear the children playing 

Where the wild birds sing and nest, 
And I see young lovers straying 

Where the fairies come to rest. 

Dear friends, in my halls of beauty. 

Hold converse with wisdom rife, 
And see that the meanest duty 

Is bright in the web of life. 
There love is my heart enfolding. 

And blends with its bliss no pain. 
Are you my rich realm beholding, 

And have you a home in Spain ? 

♦ 4» ♦ 

FAREWELL 

Farewell^ sweet one, and can it be 
That sleep has closed thy gentle eyes, 

With such deep kisses that they see 
Naught but the light of Paradise? 



FAREWELL 89 

Canst thou not feel the tender rain 

Of love's caresses on thy brow ? 
Will not that sweet smile come again, 

As we breathe love words o'er thee now ? 

Oh, no ! farewell ; so deep thy rest, 

Thou canst not hear our tender call. 
With white hands folded on thy breast, 

Thou canst not feel the hot tears fall; 
Thou dost not know thy calm repose 

Brings us but sleepless hours of pain. 
To have thee free from all life's woes ; 

We stretch out empty arms in vain. 

Yet sleep, fair one ; as lilies close 

Their petals when the day is o'er, 
So lies our lily in repose. 

To bloom on this dark earth no more. 
We know our fair flower will unfold 

Its petals in a brighter clime ; 
Oh, lily pure with heart of gold, 

Couldst thou not wait a longer time ? 

Farewell! we gaze with tear-dimmed eyes 

Far toward the mystic silent shore, 
And wonder where the country lies 

Where thou wilt dwell forever more; 
What art thou doing with that mind 

That burned like some rare star alone, 
Seeking the hidden gems to find? 

Ah, now those treasures are thine own. 



go SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Farewell, blest sleeper; not one wave 

Of our great loss shall break thy rest; 
We give thee back to God who gave, 

The One who knew and loved thee best. 
Sweet angels, close her starlike eyes. 

And help us, God, to bear our pain, 
Till in the fields of Paradise 

We find our own lost one again. 

♦ 4» 4* 

TRUE SUCCESS 

He sang a song the sad world needed. 

That would have crowned some brows with 
fame; 
But never knew that one soul heeded 

Whence that inspiring music came. 
He left the glowing canvas living 

With fair creations of the heart, 
But critics passed them coldly, giving 

The praise and gold to poorer art. 

He spent his life to make men brothers, 

Yet met with censure and disdain; 
He toiled for weeping wives and mothers. 

His burning words and prayers seemed vain. 
But to the hills his eyes were lifted. 

An uncrowned king, he upward trod, 
Himself success, for he was gifted 

With faith in others and in God. 



LIFE 91 

BETTER TO WAIT 

Better to wait through the morning hours, 

Better to lose life's earlier flowers, 

Better to wait till the golden day, 

With song and perfume has passed away. 

Better to wait in the gloaming time 

Till pitying stars through the night mists shine, 

Better to wait till the moonbeams sleep 

In the arms of day^ while still you weep, 

Better to die, unloved and alone, 

Than that the heart be false to its own. 

♦ ♦ *l» 

LIFE 

Life, my friend, and long time lover, 
Kind in pain, I now discover. 

Every year I've loved you more. 
Just for giving me the pleasure 
Of this earth with all its treasure, 
Strength and effort in good measure, 
And dear love beyond believing; 
Let me kiss your lips in leaving, 

As I bless you o'er and o'er. 

Death, I now to you am turning. 
But with no immortal yearning. 

You are one men meet with strife. 
See, my torch of faith bright shining 



92 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Gives the dark a golden lining, 
I will come without repining, 
Show your face^ the journey guiding. 
Joy! Beneath that black cloak hiding 
Is my dear old comrade, Life. 

<{» ^ 4. 

I NEED YOUR ROSES NOW 

I DO not plead a broken heart. 

My life has much of bliss; 
And yet at times the hot tears start, 

Because of joys I miss. 
Oh, do not leave the tender things 

Unsaid till o'er my brow 
Death's wing its warning shadow flings! 

I need your roses now. 

If I should take the journey far 

Your tears would fall like rain. 
And out beyond the evening star 

Your soul would call in vain. 
But walking closely by your side, 

How little you allow 
For human failings none can hide ! 

I need your roses now. 

Ah, life would brighten everywhere 

If half the love were shown 
In tender, sympathizing care 

That gleams in costly stone. 



SOMEWHERE 93 

The honor you too late would give, 

Give now, I care not how — 
For you, and you alone, I live. 

And need your roses now. 

^ v ▼ 

SOMEWHERE 

80MEWHERE in distant purple seas 

A golden isle is gleaming, 
Where anchor all the argosies 

We send out in our dreaming. 
The castles we have built in air. 

Rise there on firm foundations, 
Filled with all forms of beauty rare 

That were our thought creations. 

There waits the love that fled so soon ; 

It seemed a dream, though giving 
To life its breath of perfumed June, 

The sweetest thing of living. 
Oh, beautiful Somewhere, Somewhere, 

Thou must exist if only 
To save from bitterest despair 

The hearts now sad and lonely. 

Somewhere the friends who passed from sight. 

Upon Death's bosom sleeping. 
Are dwelling in eternal light 

For us love's vigils keeping. 



94 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Somewhere the one who lost the prize, 
Yet toiled with true endeavor, 

Will find the wreath of laurel lies 
Above his brow forever. 

Somewhere our better selves must wait, 

Which sometimes came when giving 
Our aspirations pure and great 

Place in our daily living. 
Oh, beautiful Somewhere, Somewhere, 

Is Death the river gliding 
Out to the ocean calm and fair. 

Where thy bright shores are hiding? 

♦ * 4» 

WOMAN'S WORK 

Ah ! what is woman's work in life? 

She is not leader in the strife. 

But those who lead makes pure and strong. 

And thus unseen directs the throng. 

'Tis woman's blessed gift to raise 

All weary hearts in simple ways. 

As violets hidden in the grass 

Their fragrance give to those who pass, 

Who never see them but adore 

The author of all beauty more ; 

Or bird who sings her nest beside. 

And whose sweet song some one doth hide. 

Deep in his heart then give again 



WOMAN'S WORK 95 

Unto the world a rich refrain, 
And as it uplifts souls of men, 
They dream not of the wooded glen, 
Where glad with birdlings 'neath her breast 
The bird knows not her song is blest. 

Not like a river strong and free, 

Bearing great ships on to the sea. 

Is woman's life, but like a spring. 

In verdant shade where sweet flowers cling, 

Whose waters nourish as they pass 

The forest roots and meadow grass. 

Where weary travelers stop to drink, 

And children play upon its brink. 

And so through humble ministry 

It blesses earth and swells the sea. 

How far man's work goes he may know 

Before o'er him the daisies blow; 

But woman patiently must wait 

Until the evening shadows late 

Fade into stars that pave the way 

That leads to everlasting day ! 

Then with the joys of paradise 

Will come the sweet and glad surprise 

To find that love's least service given 

Is counted high and great in heaven, 

And not earth's laurels and renown 

Make white the robe and bright the crown, 

But God will place upon each brow 

The jewels that pure deeds make now. 



96 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

A DREAM 

It is not sorrow that is stealing, 
Within my soul its touch revealing 

Some anguish deep and wild as death ! 
Nor yet remorse, that vulture, eating 
The lifeblood while the heart is beating, 

Nor passion with its burning breath. 
But sad as fate and sweet as loving, 
Across my soul a spell is moving 

That stirs my pulses like old wine. 
Be still ! A dream of love long hidden 
Has risen from its grave unbidden; 

A moment let its bliss be mine. 

4> 4» 4» 

BEDSIDE ANGELS 

Much is said in song and story 

Of fair women on the throne. 
Crowned with gems and earthly glory. 

In a starlike grandeur lone. 
But more honored are the women 

Who, as angels here below, 
Minister by beds of anguish, 

Giving healing as they go. 

Blessed are the hands so soothing, 
Welcome is the smiling face. 

Naught in womanhood more queenly 
Than a nurse's gentle grace; 



MORNING-GLORIES 97 

Yet a double charm is added, 
When while giving pain relief 

One can lift a sad soul upward 
With a Christian's strong belief. 

Dear ones who have been so faithful, 

With your skillful, tender care. 
You have lifted my worn spirit, 

With your blessed song and prayer. 
Go on doing for the Master, 

Winning gratitude and love, 
Though no earthly gems shine o'er you, 

You will find your crowns above. 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

MORNING-GLORIES 

Who dropped the seed upon this wild? 

Was it some bird upon the wing. 
Or tiny hand of playing child, 

Or did the wind the treasure bring? 
I know not, but as toilers pass 

They think not of their lives forlorn, 
But smile with hope as in the grass. 

They catch the glory of the morn. 

So angels plant upon our way, 
As toil we up life's rocky height, 

Blossoms that whisper of the day 
That is so near and has no night. 



98 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

THE CARPENTER'S SON 

They said, "The carpenter's son." To me, 
No dearer thing in the Book I see, 
For he must have risen with the light, 
And patiently toiled until the night. 
He, too, was weary when evening came, 
For well he knoweth our mortal frame. 
And he remembers the weight of dust. 
So his frail children may sing and trust. 

We often toil till our eyes grow dim, 

Yet our hearts faint not because of him. 

The workers are striving everywhere, 

Some with a pitiful load of care ; 

Many in peril upon the sea. 

Or deep in the mine's dark mystery. 

While mothers nor day nor night can rest — 

I fancy the Master loves them best. 

For many a little head has lain 
On the heart pierced by redemption's pain. 
He was so tender with fragile things. 
He saw the sparrow with broken wings. 
His mother, the loveliest woman born, 
Had humble tasks in her home each morn, 
And he thought of her the cross above, 
So burdened women must have his love. 

For labor, the common lot of man, 
Is part of a kind Creator's plan, 



TWO WATCHERS 99 

And he is a king whose brow is wet 

With the pearl-gemmed crown of honest 

sweat. 
Some glorious day, this understood, 
All toilers will be a brotherhood. 
With brain or hand the purpose is one. 
And the master workman, God's own Son. 



4> 4» •> 

TWO WATCHERS 

One watched the dawning of the year. 

The fading stars left nothing save 
A winter morning cold and drear. 

The snow upon a new-made grave. 
Then bitterly, "How can bells ring, 

And men rejoice? As lies the snow 
Upon her breast, life's sorrows cling 

To hearts left helpless in their woe." 

Another lifted trustful eyes. 

And smiled to see the dawn again. 
"My love is safe in paradise. 

Nor can she know my toil and pain. 
Her very resting place is white 

As her pure soul but dearer grown. 
What stars of promise in our night ! 

How gentle God is with his own !" 



loo SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

DUST 

"He remembers that we are dust." 
I STOOD by my mother sobbing, 

One day in my childhood years, 
A hand that was torn and bleeding 

The cause of my bitter tears. 
She trying to teach the lesson 

Of patience, that learn I must, 
But I said in deep rebellion, 

"I hate to be made of dust." 

We have lived in constant warfare, 

Its dust and this soul of mine, 
The one is so plainly earthly, 

The other so near divine; 
For as in the bulb deep hidden 

A lily is held in trust, 
I feel the uplifting throbbing 

Of wings in my case of dust. 

How strange we so often wonder 

At failings all lives display. 
Expecting but spirit beauty, 

Forgetting its weight of clay, 
When He, who is always holy. 

Yet tender as he is just. 
Considers our pitiful failures. 

And remembers we are dust. 

"He remembers" — words the sweetest. 
That make in my heart a song. 

What matter if every other 

Should judge of my motives wrong? 



REST loi 

How blessed this earthly plodding, 

This beautiful life of trust! 
Just to know that *'He remembers," 

Is worth being made of dust. 



4» 4» 4» 

REST 

Now rest, my heart! 
Canst thou by fretting keep the day 

From sleeping in the arms of night, 
Or make one sunbeam longer stay, 

Or bring one clouded star in sight? 
Thou canst not keep life's pain away 

From that soul dearer than thine own. 
But thou canst trust each sorrow may 

Bring blossoms where thorns might have grown. 
Now rest, my heart! 

Now rest, my heart! 
Two angels wait to give thee peace. 

Remembrance, with past blessings, brings 
Assurance that good will not cease, 

Forgetfulness hath healing wings. 
These will thy true companions be. 

And hearts with burdens more than thine 
May feel the love that shelters thee, 

And seek the rest that is divine. 
Then restj my heart! 



102 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

NIGHT 

Serenely burn the stars of night, 

Upon the bosom of the sky; 
The crescent moon with pallid light 

Sinks down the west all silently, 
While pure stars vigil keep. 

The world which, since the morning rose. 
Has echoed sounds of toil's unrest, 

Now silent lies in sweet repose, 
As sleeps a child on love's own breast. 

The veil of light which through the day 

From earth hid ever endless space, 
By unseen hands is drawn away. 

And countless worlds the heavens grace. 
While gleams the meteor's fire, 

The soul from earthly thraldom free, 
Now unobstructed wings its flight 

And revels in the majesty 
That gems the sparkling zenith's height 

And jewels night's attire. 

Still sweetly, softly slumber on, 

Earth's children worn with toil and care; 
Awhile let bitter pain be gone 

With sorrow's weight and dull despair. 
For angels watch between 

And weave the music seraphs sing 
In dreams, for pure white souls that sleep, 

And to the weary new life bring. 
And kiss eyes shut that in day weep; 

While God guards all, unseen. 



COMPENSATION 103 

COMPENSATION 

It is the time when daisies fold 

Their petals white round hearts of gold, 

When meadow lands and hills are green, 

And air perfumed from flowers unseen. 

E'en in the city's crowded heart. 

The spring has still its own sweet part. 

For dandelions bring their gold 

From up between the pavements' mold, 

And bits of earth, with young grass clad. 

Make sad eyes smile and bright eyes glad. 

The very sparrows in the street 

Speak in a language new and sweet, 

As if some time their home had been 

The blooming forest's heart within; 

And morning's breath is soft and clear, 

As if it came from meadows near. 

The weary man with life's toil bent, 
A moment feels the soothing scent 
Of falling grass, which years ago 
In sunny fields he used to mow; 
And all day long o'er pen and book 
He hears the murmur of the brook, 
And lives again his boyhood days, 
Forgetful of life's darker ways. 

A shopgirl with thin fingers quick 
A dandelion stops to pick, 



104 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

And as she bends o'er endless seam, 
Her heart is in a sunny dream. 
Once more, a happy child, she sees 
The sunlight play through forest trees. 
And hears the songs from birds unseen, 
And so forgets the years between. 
The sick on weary beds of pain. 
With spring's return find health again. 
And 'neath the sunlit skies of blue, 
Rejoice because all things are new; 
While they who feel Death's angel near. 
Are glad the daisies white are here. 
And smile that they will hide the tomb, 
When Eden's flowers for them will bloom. 

The children in the crowded din 
Where life begins and ends in sin, 
Look up between the houses high. 
And get a glimpse of soft blue sky, 
And dreaming not of wood and field, 
Which fairy ferns and blossoms yield. 
They find fresh grass in courtyards low, 
And all the joy of springtime know; 
While city parks to their young eyes, 
Are bright and fair as Paradise. 

Not where sweet songs and perfumes fill 
The country air do hearts most thrill 
With joy of spring, but where is stirred 
The darkened air by voiceless bird, 
And where to starving eyes one flower 
Makes in itself an Eden bower. 



TOO SOON 105 

For God is good, and gives to all, 
And they who eat the crumbs that fall 
From tables with his plenty spread, 
Kejoice that they can be so fed ; 
While they who share the upper feast 
Know not their happiness is least. 
So doth he satisfy our need. 
And every living creature feed. 

* ♦ <► 

TOO SOON 

O Death, you are too soon, for see! 

The morning dew is on unopened flowers; 

I have but tasted life's first happy hours, 
From which I gather nectar, as the bee 

The lily's sweetness ere the scorch of noon. 

O Death, you are too soon, too soon! 

"Tis early; for the matin song 

The glad birds use to waken sleeping day 
Now echoes from the woodland far away. 

So in my heart is stirring deep and strong 
A melody the years would set to tune, 
If you come not too soon, too soon. 

Why visit me, stern Death? Among 
Earth's weary children some would smile to 

hear 
Your footsteps at their doorway, lone and 

drear. 



io6 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

I fain would wait till star-eyed night has hung 
Low in the west the slender crescent moon. 
It now is morn ; you are too soon. 

Wait till the sun turns to the west : 
I cannot go, for love has come for me, 
With yearning outstretched arms. O let me be 

One moment folded on his faithful breast! 
Then I will go with you, though not yet noon, 
And it be soon, O Death, too soon. 

I have a little field to keep. 

And it is sown with God's own precious grain. 

I wiU not heed the noontide heat nor pain, 
If I can later golden harvest reap. 

Yet who finds ripened wheat in early June? 

Death, you are too soon, too soon ! 

God's messenger you are! I go. 

1 heard the coming of your winged feet, 
And now I feel your kisses cold and sweet, 

And as you break life's crimson cord, I know 
To God's own children death is such a boon, 
You cannot come too soon, too soon. 

^ ^ ^ 

THE BIRD'S WAY 

The little bird sat on a slender limb, 

Upward swinging, 
And though wind and rain were rough with him. 

Still kept singing. 



SUPPOSE YOU TRY SMILING 107 

"Oh little bird, quick, seek out your nest!" 

I could not keep from calling ; 
"The bleak winds tear your tender breast, 
Your tiny feet are falling." 

"More need for song 

When things go wrong, 
I was not meant for crying; 

No fear for me," 

He piped with glee, 
"My wings were made for flying." 

My heart had been dark as the stormy sky, 

In my sorrow, 
With the weight of troubles long passed by. 

And the morrow. 
"O little bird, sing!" I cried once more, 

"The sun will soon be shining. 

See there's a rainbow arching o'er 

The storm cloud's silver lining. 

I too will sing 

Through everything; 
It will each blessing double. 

Nor yet forget. 

When rude winds fret. 
To fly above my trouble." 

if 4» 4» 

SUPPOSE YOU TRY SMILING 

Your burden is heavy, I haven't a doubt, 
But others have loads they must carry about, 
And they are not whining. 



io8 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Some people are glad if but half of the way 
Lies out of the shadow, or part of the day 

They see the sun shining. 

Suppose you try smiling. 



I know you are lonely, but other hearts ache, 
And bravely refuse to be bitter or break 

Because of life's sorrow. 
They think of the joy in the land far away. 
And hasten the slow passing hours of to-day 

With hopes of to-morrow. 

Suppose you try smiling. 

This funny old world is a mirror, you know, 
Turn its way with a sneer, or face of a foe, 

And you will see trouble. 
But meet it with laughter and looks full of cheer, 
And back will come sunshine and love true and 
dear 

Your blessings to double. 

Suppose you try smiling. 

All places are open to those who are glad, 
Too many lack courage, too many are sad. 

Those near you need cheering. 
So sing with your burden, the way is not long, 
And if you look upward your heart will grow 
strong. 

And skies will be clearing. 

Suppose you try smiling. 



EARTHWORMS 109 

EAKTHWORMS 

Little worm I crushed beneath my feet, 
In my heedless treading on your way, 
Just as you had reached the sunshine sweet, 

And had heard the morning's melody. 
Did you tire of working underground, 
With no word of praise or joyful sound. 
And no stars within your darkness found? 

Little worm, but for your patient kind, 

Earth would turn to stone nor give us grain. 

You are little plowshares working blind. 
Turning fallows upward to the rain. 

Did you weary of the endless night? 

Did you feel an instinct for the light? 

Did you long for wings for upward flight? 

Little worm, I almost hear you groan. 

Writhing back to common lifeless dust. 
As from earth arises bitter moan 

From the toilers underneath her crust. 
They are delving in the dripping mine, 
They are seeking pearls beneath the brine, 
Underground they work in every clime. 

Little worm, you had the common share 
With your kindred hiding in the sod, 
But with men some live in dwellings fair, 

Taking sunshine as the smile of God. 
Some are kings forgetful of the slave, 
Some build temples o'er the workman's grave, 
Some keep life that others died to save. 



no SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Little worm, men toiling have this hope, 
As they delve and die within the earth. 
Though as earthworms they may seem to grope, 

They are children of celestial birth, 
And perhaps those slaving out of sight 
May rise highest in their upward flight, 
When they leave the dark on wings of light. 

4» 4f> 4» 

THE SONG OF THE TEA KETTLE 

Oh, Pegasus, Pegasus, come let me stride 
Your wide-winged back for a poetic ride. 
And take me where billows sparkle and roll, 
For my theme touches mortals body and soul. 
The song of the Sirens that Orpheus beat. 
Has not thrilled all nations as my charmer sweet, 
And Pan with his long-reeded flute of such note, 
On hearing my warbler had been but a goat. 

The Lorelei combing with gold her gold hair. 
Had featured in stone, as she did, in despair, 
And left her weird chant in the sob of the Ehine, 
Had her magic brought forth this singer of mine. 
The lark cleaving upward a path through the blue, 
Would drop his song crystals if he could hear too, 
For nothing in either entrancing could be 
As the song of the kettle calling for tea. 

Oh, tea kettle, tea kettle, emblem of home, 
Our hearts hold thee fondly wherever we roam. 



THE COMMON CAR iii 

Thy soft humming music brings childhood once 

more, 
When glad eager children rushed in at the door, 
And saw mother's head with a faint halo crowned, 
As the snow wreaths of vapor circled her round. 
Oh, sing, happy kettle, and tell with thy mirth 
The song of the hearthstone is sweetest on earth. 



4» 4» 4» 



THE COMMON CAR 

No, thank you, not the parlor car. 
I tried it once an' nearly died 
With lonesomeness an' stuck-up pride, 
An' 'fore I got so very far, 
I hiked into my proper place. 
Where I could see the human race. 
An' where the paper boy would be; 
The common car will do fur me, 

I like to see the chil'ren play. 

An' watch their mothers make 'em look 
Too young to even think of pay. 

The mother buried in a book. 
Sometimes I spell the other kind. 
An' help her make the chil'ren mind, 
An' with a baby, helpless thing, 
I feel as happy as a king. 



112 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

The common car has all the fun, 

The country bridegroom an' his bride, 
My eyes grow dim, as side by side. 

They look an' dream that they are one. 
An' then sometimes a lunatic 
Does up his keeper pretty slick, 
I mean the kind they take away, 
Not them I train with every day. 

God must love common folks like me, 
Fur they are plenty as the grass. 
All workin' fur the upper class, 
Contented too they mostly be. 
I rec'on when the goats an' sheep 
Are gathered in their final keep. 
The bigger part of saints by far 
Will come from out the common car. 



POEMS FOR FESTAL DAYS 



THANKSGIVING 

Down from the North, with tresses white, 

Old Winter comes with icy breath ; 
At his approach our birds take flight, 

And sweet flowers close their eyes in death, 
But not until the lavish earth 

Redeems the promise of the Springy 
And harvest songs ring out their mirth — 

For this we thank thee, God, our King. 

Then let the lusty North wind roar; 

Heap up the board with richest cheer. 
While with our loved ones we think o'er 

The blessings of another year. 
We will forget our toil and care; 

Life must grow sweeter while we sing, 
God's providence is everywhere — 

For this we thank thee, God, our King. 

No pestilence has swept our land. 

Nor wild storms wrecked our ships at sea, 
We have not felt war's bloody hand. 

Our pride is still in Liberty ; 
Our happy homes, these shrines of love. 

On earth's dark bosom glittering. 
Must shine like stars to eyes above — 

For this we thank thee, God, our King. 
"5 



ii6 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

But not alone do nations know- 
God's ruling hand is over all ; 

He seeth that the lilies grow, 

And careth when his sparrows fall; 

Each life is precious in his sight ; 
We should rejoice, remembering. 

Our Father guards us day and night — 
For this we thank thee, God, our King. 

Each soul has cause for special praise, 

Though some have felt their deepest loss, 
Treading those lonely Christlike ways. 

Beneath the shadow of the cross. 
But joy or pain, God knoweth best. 

Though tears have fallen, still we sing, 
A child of his is always blest — 

For this we thank thee, God, our King. 

4» ^ 4» 

REASONS FOR THANKSGIVING 

One day we might forget our cares, 
The selfish needs that fill our prayers. 
And turn our pleading into praise. 
Acknowledging God's gracious ways. 
We have had home and daily bread. 
And thank thee for full tables spread. 

If Death has claimed our very best. 
We thank thee for a loved one's rest ; 
And praise that Providence can bring 
Sweet water from each bitter spring. 



A CHRISTMAS SONG 117 

For things we have not understood 
We thank thee, Giver of all good. 

For leading nations through their strife 
Into a larger, better life 
We thank thee, knowing war will cease 
Before the coming Prince of peace ; 
And for the care that broods above 
Each soul we thank thee, God of love. 

4f» <$» 4» 

A CHRISTMAS SONG 

Across the blackness of the night 
There flashed a star so pure and bright, 
It filled the ages with its light. 

Within the hush of midnight air 
There burst a song so sweet and rare, 
Its words still echo everywhere. 

A child lay in a manger bed. 

And only those divinely led 

Knew that a crown was o'er his head. 

That star was but a single ray 
From golden portals, when the way 
Was opened to Eternal Day. 

The song that was to shepherds given, 

Has often chains of discord riven 

And brought to earth the peace of heaven. 



ii8 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

That baby is of kings the King, 

And hearts redeemed their trophies bring, 

While still the Christmas angels sing. 



4» 4» 4» 



THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL 

He stood by my side, my bright darling, 

With his stockings full to the brim, 
And smiled as I gave him the reason, 

"Santa Claus" was so good to him. 
Then I told him again the old legend, 

How he lived in his palace of snow, 
But my little one said very gravely, 

"Santa Claus is an angel I know." 

Then I thought my darling is wiser 

Than I, with that old tale of mirth, 
For all our good gifts are from heaven 

No matter how came they to earth. 
Who knows but it may be the mission 

Of some of the glorified throng 
To whisper to mortals that giving 

Is holy as prayer or as song? 

I said, "You are right, little darling, 
God gave such a gift long ago, 

That once through the year we remember 
How much to our Father we owe. 



OH, SWEET OLD SONG 119 

But we cannot go to the manger 
And leave our rich perfume and gold, 

So giving to his little children, 
Is giving to him, we are told. 

"One day in the year we endeavor 

To celebrate Christ's wondrous birth, 
And scatter some sunbeams from heaven 

Upon this old, sorrowful earth. 
Not only with those who most love us 

Should we our best happiness share. 
But more should we try to remember 

The poor and those burdened with care. 

"And I think if souls could hear whispers 

Through self, we would find angels say, 
*No one is too poor or too lonely 

To make some one happy to-day.' " 
Did my boy understand all my meaning? 

Perhaps, for he said with a glow, 
"If the angels helped make the first Christmas, 

Santa Claus is an angel I know." 

4» 4» 4» 

OH, SWEET OLD SONG OF BETHLEHEM 

Oh, sweet old song of Bethlehem! 

How still were earth and sky! 
The sheep lay quietly asleep. 

The shepherds watching by, 



120 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

When suddenly the stars grew dim 

In a celestial light, 
And angel faces turned to day 

The darkness of the night. 

Oh, sweet old song of Bethlehem! 

The trembling shepherds heard 
The first glad tidings to a world 

That groaned with hope deferred. 
''It is for all," the angel said, 

"That Christ is born this day, 
A Saviour for all sinful men, 

A joy for all life's way." 

Oh, sweet old song of Bethlehem! 

It was not to the great 
The heavenly visitors appeared, 

But men of low estate. 
Then angels came, as come they now. 

To those who toil along; 
Had these good shepherds left their flocks 

They would have missed the song. 

Oh, sweet old song of Bethlehem! 

It could not be the same. 
The flocks were not worth quite as much 

After that vision came. 
They hastened where the young child lay, 

And worshiped at his feet ; 
They spread the tidings all abroad 

In praises loud and sweet. 



THE OLD AND NEW 121 

Oh, sweet old song of Bethlehem ! 

Some on this Christmas eve 
Have heard the angels' joyful strain 

And worship and believe; 
But many, many far away 

Know not that Christ has come, 
And has made earth a shining path 

That leads to heaven's home. 

Oh, sweet old song of Bethlehem ! 

Awake the church to-day. 
That watches o'er its hundred sheep 

While thousands drift away. 
Where darkest superstition binds 

Crushed hearts in fetters strong, 
Oh, help us. Lord, to show our joy, 

And send this Christmas song. 



V *f* ▼ 



THE OLD AND NEW 

I WILL not give you a tear. Old Year, 

Nor a backward glance of sorrow; 
Though you take much that was dear. Old Year, 

There's joy in the dawning morrow. 
There are songs as glad and buds as sweet 

In the coming summer weather; 
The new year may hold more joy complete, 

Than you and I had together. 



122 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

I have laid away the best, Old Year, 

Each flower in your bosom hidden, 
Your grave shall cover the rest. Old Year, 

Every thorn that sprang unbidden. 
I only remember smiles of love. 

The song when the night came o'er me, 
The eyes of the stars that shone above 

When the way seemed dark before me. 

A farewell kiss for you now. Old Year, 

For the moments are swift and few. 
From the mold on your cold brow, Old Year, 

Will grow the sweet blooms of the new ; 
Ah, who is this strong one drawing near 

Such blossoms and fruitage bringing? 
I look in your eyes of love. New Year, 

And know why the bells are ringing. 



4t» 4» 4» 



THE SUNNY WAY 

Out from the shadowland, 
Where future ages stand, 
Destiny in his hand. 

Comes the New Year. 
"Though veiled and still thou art, 
Answer my eager heart. 
What wilt thou make my part, 

Sorrow or cheer?" 



THE SUNNY WAY 

Sweeter than voice of bird, 
Something the silence stirred. 
This song my spirit heard, 

This came to me: 
"I bring both thorn and flower, 
Stormy and sunny hour, 
And to thee give the power 

Thy way to see. 

"Thou canst find pain and care, 
Thorns with each blossom fair. 
Or sunbeams everywhere, 

If thou art blest 
With the desire to know 
How in the light to grow, 
How much of bliss can flow 

From peace and rest. 

"Bright days, however sweet, 
Are not alone complete; 
All must the shadows meet. 

By sunlight made; 
Some who have little loss, 
Cling to earth's poorest dross, 
Making of self a cross. 

Live in the shade. 

"Others dwell in the light, 
Joyous if days are bright. 
Thankful if stars at night 
Through tears they see. 



12?. 



124 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Making of life a song, 
Growing more pure and strong, 
They to our God belong. 
Which wilt thou be?" 

No more I eager ask. 

Wealth, power, or joy to grasp, 

Nor dread life's daily taskj 

But humbly pray. 
Mine be the better part, 
Mine be the thankful heart. 
Whence peace cannot depart. 

The sunny way. 

<!» 4» 4» 

EASTER MORNING 

From the sea the mist floats slowly, 
While night's tapers, faint and holy. 

Fade beyond the dawning gray; 
Birds within the nest are waking; 
Far above the East is breaking. 

Promise of returning day. 

Seraphim who saw unfolding 
Earth's first morn are now beholding 

That which will all ages thrill — 
They who sang in heavenly places 
At His birth, and hid their faces 

From His shame, with awe are still. 



EASTER FLOWERS 125 

For behold where they have laid Him — 
Empty is the tomb they made Him — 

Death lies conquered at His feet. 
See, He waits to greet the morning, 
Fairest thing the earth adorning, 

All love's sacrifice complete. 

Miracle of love that giveth 

Life from death, because He liveth; 

O, the crown of victory^ 
That, while angels fall before Him, 
Human hearts can best adore Him! 
He is risen, soul, for thee! 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

EASTER FLOWERS 

No bloom of spring had dared to lift 
Its head above the frozen ground. 

In snow-wrapped forests not a gift 
For Easter beauty could be found. 

No gold had I for lilies white 

To make Christ's temple sweet and fair, 
Nor roses whose rich perfume might 

Rise up in incense with my prayer. 

And as I sorrowed that my love 

For my dear Lord could not be shown, 

I slept and dreamed I bent above 
The fairest blossoms ever known. 



126 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

It was the garden of the King 
Where angels gathered all the flowers 

That were his Easter offering 
Upon this blessed earth of ours. 

"Alas, no gift of mine," I cried, 

"Will bloom this year above the skies !" 

Then spoke an angel by my side, 
"Not in the flower the offering lies. 

"A holy thought, a lowly prayer. 
Some sad heart cheered and comforted. 

Will live here as a lily fair 
When all the earthborn flowers are dead. 

"The sweetest blossoms here were made 
By deeds of self-forgetful love. 

Go, give Christ's needy children aid. 
And Easter buds will bloom above." 

4» 4» 4» 

EASTER LILIES 

In griefs passion, deep and holy, 

Mary's eyes with tears were wet, 
Caring not for morning's splendor, 

Since her star of hope had set. 
While before her stood the Master, 

Slowly, through a mist of tears, 
Showing her the risen Saviour 

Heals all hearts and calms all fears. 



EASTER LILIES 127 

Still he stands within the garden, 

Where we lay our loved ones now, 
Saying softly to each mourner, 

"Dear one, O why weepest thou?" 
For since he has made his pillow 

In the shadow of the tomb, 
It should be the holy portal 

Where our sweetest flowers bloom. 

This is why we bring our lilies, 

Pure and white this Easter day, 
For our Lily of the Valley 

Takes from death its gloom away ; 
And as bursts the budding blossom 

From earth's prison, cold and dim. 
So we break our earthly fetters. 

And arise complete with him. 



PERSONAL POEMS 



-J 



CHOPIN NOCTURNE XI 

To Viola Gordon. 

It is not sorrow that is stealing 
Within my soul, its touch revealing 

Some anguish deep and wild as death ; 
Nor yet remorse, the vulture, eating 
The lifeblood from the heart's warm beating; 

Nor passion with its burning breath. 

But, sad as life and sweet as loving, 
Across my soul a spell is moving. 

Stirring dead memories into strife. 
Be still ! a dream of love, long hidden, 
Has risen from its grave unbidden. 

And thrills the heart with vanished life. 

TO HARRY AND GERTIE 

If love made riches, I could send 

Gold that would glisten as the light; 
Diamonds and opals that would blend 

Their rainbow tints with pearls of white. 
But not by jeweled gold alone 

Do hearts affection deep express; 
So for these gifts let love atone 

And prove a true heart's tenderness. 
131 



132 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

And I but hope that as the hours 
Pass into happy, fleeing years, 

Your pathway may be sweet with flowers 
Until the gate of heaven appears. 



4f if 4» 



BABY JENNIE 

Lie close on my bosom my golden-haired darling, 

No wild rose in forest all heavy with dew, 
Nor lilies that hold all the gold dust of summer 

Are sweet and as dainty, my baby, as you. 
I would I could hold you thus folded forever, 

A bird that is sheltered all safe in its nest, 
I wish I could keep those sweet eyes from know- 
ing 

The shadow that falls from life's great unrest. 

But buds will be blossoms, and birds will fly on- 
ward. 
And life will be kind to my darling, I ween, 
Not fighting with men in the heat of the battle. 
But of all those true hearts by love's right the 
queen. 
No, I would not keep you a flower on my bosom, 
Grow strong and grow sweet for the kingdom 
that lies 
Awaiting the hand and the heart of a woman, 
To bring back to earth its lost Paradise. 



DEAD 133 

DEAD 

(Rev. J. S. Smart, D.D.) 

Dead? Ah, the shadow that word has brought 
o'er us! 

Can it be true that a soldier so strong 
Stepped from the ranks, with the battle before 
us, 

Leaving no peer in his fight with the wrong? 
Dead? When his spirit of earnest endeavor 

Cheered on his comrades, he leading the way. 
Must that thrilling voice be silent forever, 

That opened the heavens when lifted to pray? 

Dead ? When so loved that the true hearts 
around him 
Would shelter him close through life's sunset 
years ! 
Death must have paused in his flight when he 
found him. 
Unwilling to cause love's sorrowful tears. 
All are not needed who take the path leading 
Up through the stars to the beautiful gate, 
But this light went out when many were pleading 
That it might shine on until evening was late. 

But far better so to go without failing, 

Crowned with life's laurels, nor bowed with its 
strife. 

A bright star has set without its light paling, 
And happy the spirit thus parting with life. 



134 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

And grieving our loss, we hope in our sorrow, 
For death but unlocks the home of the blest ; 

Our friend we will greet some golden to-morrow, 
And share in his joy and heavenly rest. 

4» 4» 4» 

VICTORIOUS 

In Memory of Mrs. Mary Goodwin. 

We followed her to the river, 

The mystical river, Death; 
And w^atched with love's deep devotion, 

The flickering, failing breath ; 
But we could not see the angels 

That waited on wings of light, 
Nor hear the celestial music 

She heard in her upward flight. 

A woman with vain ambition 

For pleasure, or wealth, or fame. 
May pass from these earthly shadows 

And leave but an empty name ; 
But one who was ever faithful 

As mother, and wife, and friend, 
Who made home an earthly Eden, 

Leaves blessings that never end. 

Nor yet was the world forgotten. 

The church was another home, 
And souls had her tender pity. 

Who out of its refuge roam. 



HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP 135 

To make the whole world more homelike, 

To lessen its sin and strife, 
And follow the steps of the Master, 

Was the purpose of her life. 

Her face with its gentle beauty, 

Her voice with its tender tone^ 
The life ever true to duty 

Are gone and we wait alone ; 
But faith that had shone so brightly 

Through life as her guiding star, 
Has lifted us in our sorrow, 

To where the bright mansions are. 

Nay, Death, thou art not a victor, 

Though blossoms will spring above 
Another green mound, there sleeping 

Is not the dear one we love; 
She has joined the choir of heaven. 

For her is no daisied sod; 
But a life of joy triumphant, 

In the presence of our God. 

4» 4* 4* 

HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP 

For Mr. Morrow, April 10, 1896. 

He giveth His beloved sleep. 

Sleep, on, dear one, and take thy rest. 
Though I alone life's vigils keep. 

An aching heart within my breast. 



136 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

I weep in my rebellious grief 
Because I could not ease thy pain, 

But it would be a sweet relief 
To live those weary hours again. 

Yet sleep, beloved one, sleep on, 
So beautiful in death's embrace, 

The look of patient anguish gone, 
A smile of peace upon thy face. 

Since we could not together climb 
The heights above this vale of tears. 

Thank God, thine is the joy sublime. 
And mine the lonely waiting years. 

He giveth his beloved sleep. 
And wakes them in his home above, 

So thou wilt be mine own to keep. 
Through an eternity of love. 

4» «f» 4» 

ONE YEAR IN HEAVEN 

For Mr. Morrow, April 10, 1897. 

One year in Heaven ! Does pain seem 

Naught but a long forgotten dream? 

Is not the pilgrimage of earth 

A preparation for the birth 

That takes us from depressing strife 

Into the true eternal life? 



"IT IS WELL WITH THE CHILD" 137 

One year in Heaven ! Forgive the tears, 
When we but wished thee earthly years. 
Though home has lost its joy and mirth, 
We would not call thee back to earth. 
We know God's will is always best, 
And we rejoice thou art at rest. 

One year in Heaven ! Meeting friends 
Where love and understanding blends, 
Where thought of parting gives no pain, 
Nor sin nor sorrow wounds again, 
Where one can understand God's plan. 
Which seeks the final good of man. 

One year in Heaven ! Like a flower 
Expanding 'neath the sun each hour, 
New powers of mind, new spirit flights 
Beyond our thought of highest heights; 
One year with Jesus always near, 
Oh, what a happy, blessed year! 



▼ *1* V 

«IT IS WELL WITH THE CHILD" 
To Dr. and Mrs. J. H. Potts. 

Dear friends^ who are burdened with sorrow. 
Yet see through a rainbow of tears 

The beautiful golden to-morrow, 
That borders earth's sorrowful years. 



138 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

I share the sweet hope that is making 
Your anguish less bitter and wild, 

And all that keeps fond hearts from breaking, 
You know it is well with the child. 

Ah, well ! For a spirit so holy 

Should never know sorrow nor sin; 
We all were too earthly and lowly. 

The angels were nearer his kin. 
That sensitive bud must have needed 

A climate all sunny and mild, 
For keenly all rough winds were heeded. 

But now it is well with the child. 

That mind, a tense harp, would have quivered 

With discord at each jarring touch. 
Its delicate strings would have shivered 

If pain swept its chords overmuch; 
But fanned by the soft air of heaven. 

Nor shaken by wind, tempest wild, 
What melody rare will be given. 

Now that it is well with the child. 

And oft in the twilight I'm dreaming 

How faces were glowing with joy. 
When angels leaned out with love beaming 

To welcome your radiant boy. 
On earth, sorrow's shadow grew lighter. 

And sunbeams came out when he smiled. 
So surely all heaven grew brighter 

When first it was well with the child. 



IN THE PRESENCE OF THE KING 139 

It must be affection he bore you, 

Will minister now as before, 
For reaching the bright goal before you, 

Will make him but love you the more. 
And when the sharp conflict is ended, 

You'll enter the home undefiled. 
Still by that sweet spirit attended, 

Because it is well with the child. 

4» 4» 4» 

IN THE PRESENCE OF THE KING 

To the late Prof. H. A. Jones. 

He was ready for the coming 

Of the angel swift and sweet. 
Who calls gently, "Come up higher," 

When life's mission is complete ; 
His had been no common service, 

So it was the fitting thing, 
Passing without pain or waiting 

To the presence of the King. 

His had been a life heroic, 

Not in seeking worldly fame. 
But in such grand work for others 

Children's children bless his name. 
Teacher^ friend, and noble pattern 

Of a manhood strong and pure. 
Other men will be forgotten 

While his work will still endure. 



140 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Oh, the sorrow that is crushing 

Hearts that loved him as their own ! 
Those who sit in deepest shadow 

Cannot say they weep alone. 
There is but one consolation, 

And its blessing it will bring. 
He will ne'er know care or sorrow, 

In the presence of the King. 

Beautiful his time of going! 

Easter lilies with their bloom 
Still were telling, like the angels, 

"Christ has risen from the tomb." 
We have tears for our own sorrow. 

But, Oh, Death, thou hast no sting. 
Faith can see our friend triumphant 

In the presence of the King. 

4» 4» ^ 

GOING ON 
In Memory of Dr, J. J. Hight. 

The sun may go down in night's shadows, 

The stars may sink out of our sight, 
But yet they still shine in their glory. 

Though we miss their beautiful light. 
The birds that make vocal our summer. 

Yet fly when the autumn grows drear. 
Still make hearts rejoice with their music. 

Though we their sweet songs do not hear. 



I NEVER LOVED BEFORE 141 

So souls that pass out in the silencej 

Nor held by our prayers and our tears, 
Go softly, as opens a blossom. 

From time, to eternity's years. 
Their light flickers not, but shines brighter, 

Where there is no need of the sun ; 
And into a paean of rapture 

Grows the song they here had begun. 

What sweet hopes we have in our sorrow, 

Though one whom we love cometh not, 
For here where so bravely he labored, 

His name will not soon be forgot. 
Pure and true, and going forever, 

Still farther from sorrow and sin ; 
While passing from glory to glory, 

What beautiful crowns he will win ! 



4» 4» 4» 



I NEVER LOVED BEFORE 

I THOUGHT that I had truly loved 

Before I saw your face. 
Dear friends, the tried and true of years, 

Each had a sacred place; 
But as when glows the fiery sun 

Above earth's eastern rim 
A thousand starry torches fade 

In fuller glory dim. 



142 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

So in your love's absorbing light 
The past is shadowed o'er, 

In love's fair Eden now I know, 
I never loved before. 



♦ <► 4» 

HOW MUCH DO I LOVE YOU? 

How much do I love you? I never can tell 
you; 

Ask the blue sky above you the depth of its 
blue; 

Ask the sunbeams of morn and dewdrops of 
even 

How much of their sweetness to blossoms is given ; 

As well ask the river that flows to the ocean, 

Where it gathered its drops, as measure devo- 
tion; 

In hearts so immortal their love changes never. 

And though stars may burn out they live on 
forever. 

How much do I love you? My heart in its 

beating, 
With every pulsation your name is repeating, 
Your voice is my music ; I listen, forgetting 
This world is not Eden, no past hour regretting 
I turn to your face as the flower to the morn- 
ing, 
As it comes o'er the hills, a new day adorning; 



HOW MUCH DO I LOVE YOU? 143 

But why should I tell what you are, since the 

dearest 
To all that is beautiful, love, you are nearest? 

How much do I love you ? Ah, love is my living. 

My soul, like a river, must flow out in giving ; 

I would shield you from pain, nor let you know 
sadness, 

I would give all my life to fill yours with glad- 
ness, 

I would smile off the gloom when shadows fall 
o'er youj 

The sweetest of blossoms should spring up before 
you, 

I would make my love stars, when night is above 
you, 

I would give you the best, because, dear, I love 
you. 

How much do I love you? When hushed in the 

even, 
My thoughts build a ladder of prayer unto 

Heaven, 
Your name is the first and the last in my pleading, 
Forgetful of half that my soul is needing. 
For sweetest of prayer is the constant believing, 
From my faith, you each day new joys are re- 
ceiving. 
And I trust if God calls me first, that above 

you 
I may soon win you home, for darling, I love you. 



144 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

A MOUNTAIN SOUL 
To my father. 

Some souls are like a mountain, strong and 

high, 
Granite at base, yet lifting to the sky 
A sun-kissed summit, always pure and white, 
To those below a sentinel of light; 
Yet on the mountain, down its sloping side. 
The forests cling and springs of water hide, 
And in the woodland song birds sing and nest, 
While homes within the verdant valleys rest. 
With purpose strong to dare and to endure. 
To live above life's storms serene and pure, 
Yet to be closely near one's fellow men. 
To love and shelter, and be loved again. 
This is the mountain nature, and I see '' 

That strength and sweetness when I turn to 

thee. 

*1* ▼ ▼ 



FATHER 

To my father on his birthday. 

Of all the words in the Bible 
That tell of the God we adore, 

The wonderful word of Father, 
Were enough if I knew no more, 



FATHER 145 

For it means but loving-kindness, 
And a patience with fault and sin, 

And a safe and steadfast shelter 
Where the weary can hide within. 

Ah me! Though the years are many 

Since my footsteps tottered in play, 
I still feel the gentle pressure 

Of the hand that guided my way. 
And remember well the darkness 

Of night with its childish alarms 
Seemed bright as the noonday shining 

When I hid in my father's arms. 

"As a father pitieth his children," 

This often has conquered my tears, 
The sympathy shown in childhood, 

God feels in my care-burdened years. 
And many an hour of sadness 

Has lost in contentment its woe, 
Because my Father in heaven 

Must care as my father below. 

No wonder earth's sorrowful children. 

Where sin has cursed even the sod, 
Kejoice in the blessed assurance 

That each has a Father in God, 
And I thank him with heart overflowing 

For the earthly father whose love 
Has given me some conception 

Of the Infinite One above. 



146 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

"AT EVENING TIME IT SHALL BE LIGHT" 

On my father's seventy-eighth birthday. 

The work of the day is ending, 

The sun is low in the west, 
And the harvest song is blending 

With the Master's call to rest. 
But thou hast no evening shadow, 

No gathering clouds of night, 
For a life of love and duty 

At eventide must be light. 

There were hours of sharpest conflict 

In the midst of the noontime glare. 
When the bravest heart would weary 

With the burdens thou didst bear; 
But instead of weak repining 

Thy heart, so cheery and bright. 
In the gloom sent sunbeams shining 

E'en down to the verge of night. 

Some sit alone in the shadow 

They made by a life apart. 
While others bask in the sunshine 

That came from a happy heart, 
And thus there will be no gloaming. 

No day will fade from thy sight, 
For thou wilt not know night's coming, 

Thy evening will be so bright. 



THE RICHEST TIME OF LIFE 147 

THE RICHEST TIME OF LIFE 

To my mother on her seventy-seventh birthday 

The spring is fair ; it has its flowers. 
Its happy time of sun and showers; 
Then summer cometh as a queen, 
With roses on her robe of green ; 
But autumn brings the crimson leaves 
And wealth of golden, garnered sheaves, 
And grapes that purple on the vine, 
,With spring and summer in their wine. 

The morning comes with rosy light 
That dims the candles of the night. 
And wakes the nesting birds to song. 
And sends to toil the brave and strong. 
Midday and afternoon are spent 
In search of gold or heart-content ; 
Then comes the sunset's glow and rest. 
And this of all the day is best. 

The baby comes with Paradise 
Still shining in his smiling eyes. 
And childhood passes like a dream, 
As lilies float upon a stream. 
Then youth comes with its restless heat, 
And manhood, womanhood, replete 
With care and pleasure, joy and strife, 
Lead to the richest part of life. 

And it has reached thee, mother dear. 
The sunny, mellow time of year ; 



148 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

Though with a climate of thine own, 
In constant sun thy soul has grown. 
Time counts not helpful, happy years- 
He only numbers sighs and tears ; 
So rich in blessings, strong in truth. 
Thou hast not age, but richer youth. 



▼ T *•* 



GROWING OLD 

Fourscore ! Why, you must be dreaming, 

Is my mother growing old ? 
Is there frost of silver gleaming 

In the dark hair's backward fold ? 
Age has not disturbed the spirit, 

And has scarcely dimmed the eye. 
Time, with all your stealthy changes, 

You have passed my mother by. 

Silvered hair? I well remember 

When it looked like satin sheen. 
Black as raven's wing, low parted. 

From a brow with peace serene, 
And I loved in early childhood. 

Standing by my mother's side. 
To unloose her long dark tresses. 

Patting them with tender pride. 



GROWING OLD 149 

I have seen the rare Madonnas, 

Masters left with highest art, 
And each picture brought a vision 

That was graven on my heart. 
Of a mother o'er her children 

With the love light in her face, 
That gives simple human beauty 

Something of angelic grace. 

When I read of that sweet woman. 

Angel in Crimea's camp, 
Who was blessed by dying soldiers, 

As she passed them with her lamp. 
Think I of my tireless mother. 

Ministering by beds of pain, 
Bringing with her cheerful presence 

Hope to weary hearts again. 

Fourscore ! If you mean her spirit, 

You are counting far too much, 
For the heart that keeps its youthtime. 

Age will never dare to touch. 
If you count the deeds of kindness. 

Burdens borne all patiently, 
Days of constant toil for others. 

Then fourscore the year must be. 

This was not a mountain torrent 

Dashing brilliantly and free, 
With a rush of noisy splendor. 

To the waiting restless sea. 



150 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

But this life a gentle river, 

Leaving verdure in its way, 
Bearing patiently great burdens, 

Singing softly night and day. 

Fourscore! Like a river gliding, 

Freighted with its barques of love. 
Flows this life toward the ocean, 

Which has perfect skies above. 
Oh, haste not, but stay in blessing, 

Hearts will ache when you must roam 
Past the last of earthly breakers 

To the blessed port of Home. 

4» 4» 4» 

A SWEET, LOVING MOTHER CAN NEVER 
GROW OLD 

To my mother on her eighty-fifth birthday 
The world with its beauty has change and decay. 
The birds build their nests, but they soon fly 

away. 
The red roses sweeten the air with perfume. 
But the wild restless wind soon scatters their 

bloom ; 
The tender green leaflets have scarcely made 

shade, 
When some of their number grow withered and 

fade, 
But one thing we have that Time's hand cannot 

hold, 
A sweet, loving mother can never grow old. 



MOTHER CAN NEVER GROW OLD 151 

We send out our ships and the sails fill the air, 
They are freighted with hope and wafted by 

prayer, 
But the tempests will sweep the wild billows 

o'er 
And some of the ships will return nevermore. 
If grain must have sunshine it too must have rain, 
And souls must meet bravely life's sorrow and 

pain, 
But one thing we have as a miser his gold, 
A sweet, loving mother can never grow old. 

Oh, mother, it seems but a day since your arms 
Held me close on your breast in childish alarms ; 
I hear your sweet voice singing children to sleep, 
And again at your knee I pray "soul to keep." 
The queen of the home and its bright guiding 

star, 
A tljought of you brings back my childhood's 

glad hour, 
For no matter what comes to have and to hold 
A sweet, loving mother can never grow old. 

The world is abounding with laughter and joy. 
But the wine has its myrrh, the gold its alloy. 
No matter how perfect is friendship and true, 
The love that forgives and forgets comes from 

few. 
A mother sees beauty in plainness of face, 
And each awkward movement has something of 

grace. 



153 SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS 

We may slight her affection, she does not grow 

cold, 
That sweet, loving mother who never grows old. 

"As comforts a mother," the promise we read. 
And we know that will meet our heart's deepest 

need. 
For mother means love since one held on her 

breast 
The little child Jesus who came to give rest. 
It is love that will turn life's water to wine. 
And mother love surely is nearest divine. 
Ah, Time cannot touch what we sacredly hold ; 
A sweet, loving mother can never grow old. 

4f 4» ^ 

MOTHER LOVE 

Oh, mother mine, where are you now? 

I need your selfless brooding love. 
Your hand upon my aching brow, 

Yet you are distant stars above. 
I listen for an angel's song, 

But hear the falling clods of earth. 
Ah me, that sound will echo long 

Within my gayest hours of mirth. 

The little child within me calls 

Across the silence of the grave. 
When o'er my heart a shadow falls, 

As if you still your succor gave, 



MOTHER LOVE 153 

And I can see why strong men kneel 

Before the Holy Mother's shrine, 
And in that childlike worship feel 

Uplifted to the love divine. 

I need you, mother, yet I know 

I would not bring you back to pain, . 
Though there are times I miss you so, 

I care not, for your greater gain. 
But let me go with patient heart 

The way your shining feet have trod, 
For every woman has a part 

In the great motherhood of God. 



